Faerun
by Roidieu
Summary: A few weeks before the storyline of the original Neverwinter Nights, Arthas Naiol awakens from the same nightmare he's been having for quite some time. It instils him with a strong sense of foreboding, and he sets off on a quest to save his beloved city.
1. Prologue

Prologue

_**April 1381**_

The tavern was an older establishment, the creaking floorboards and cob-webbed corners attesting to that fact. A noble sat in the middle of a large table surrounded by gruff companions who might have had one too many drinks. Arthas strode calmly across the room, purchased a few slices of bread and pork from the bartender, and sat down at a secluded table.

"Where are you headed?" the noble asked, apparently intent on finding conversation with someone who wasn't nearly drunk.

"Luskan," Arthas replied between bites.

The noble raised his eyebrows, "What business takes you there?"

"Mine," Arthas shot back impatiently.

A serving girl carried another round of drinks over to the noble's table, arousing a cheer from its mostly drunk occupants. The man nearest the girl pulled her close and whispered something in her ear that caused the girl's cheeks to blush and her eyes to widen. She wrenched herself from the man's grasp, accidentally slapping him across the face as well.

"Wench!" the man spat as he raised his bottle and began a downward swipe toward the girl's head.

Arthas upset his table to leap into the way, catching the man's hand during its descent. Arthas jabbed his hand into the back of the man's elbow directly on the golgi-organ (a/n there is a Golgi organ located on the back side of the elbow. A relatively gentle strike triggers a reflex which immediately relaxes that tendon, allowing the elbow to bend more easily in the wrong direction.) then slammed his other hand into the inside of the man's forearm, hyper-extending it backwards and causing the man to drop the bottle to shatter on the floor. Arthas whipped his knee into the man's gut, and then brought his fist crashing down on the back of the man's head to knock him, unconscious, to the ground.

Surveying the hard-set faces of the offender's companions, Arthas realized he should give them a fair warning.

"Alright," Arthas began, "We can do this the easy way and all go back to our meals and drinks, or we can do this the easy but much more humorous way and the rest of you can join your companion at the healer's facility."

"He honestly thinks he can beat us all?" one man asked his companion. "The heat of the day must have made him light-headed."

"Light-headed I may be, but I will be cured of that in less than an hour, at which point you will still be incredibly stupid," Arthas returned calmly.

The noble hastily backed away from the table and into a secluded area as his drunk companions charged Arthas, some coming over the table to get at him. Arthas's foot shot out to bash a man on the table in the groin, and a spinning grapple sent a grounded man flying into the man on the table. As the two fell into a squirming heap, Arthas struck out with the base of his palm to connect solidly with a man's forehead, sending the ruffian reeling backwards. Arthas flipped backwards over a charging man, landed lightly on the table, planted his foot in another's back, and sent him tumbling into his reeling companion. Arthas's foot flipped up a chair into a man's chin and knocked him backwards into the pile of the two already stunned men.

Arthas caught an incoming kick, smashed his fist into the top of the knee to break the leg, and collapsed the other leg with a sweep kick. A man charged from the floor, and Arthas grabbed him beneath the shoulders, swept him into the air, and slammed onto the man with a broken leg. Arthas swiftly kicked a grounded man in the face, lunged over his head, braced with his hands, and dolphin kicked into the stumbling man's tailbone. Leaping to his feet, Arthas met the final charging man with rapid but solid kicks to the groin, stomach, chest, neck, and forehead, causing the man to slump to his knees and face-plant the grimy floor.

Arthas strode swiftly to the cowering serving girl to make sure she was okay, and, after her hasty nod, stood up his table, gathered the edible portions of his meal, and sat down to finish them. The noble reclaimed his seat beside the pile of his drunk, unconscious companions and resumed the conversation in a calm tone that showed his indifference to the beating of his companions.

"You have an interesting fighting style, where did you acquire it?" he asked.

"Here and there," Arthas replied impatiently, as he just wanted to finish his meal and be on his way.

"Perhaps there, but certainly not here," the noble responded. "Don't worry about them, they've been through worse and were back on their feet after a few weeks. It'll teach them a lesson too: don't abuse the servants."

"Glad I could be of help, the Father knows I needed the entertainment," Arthas stated as he rose to leave.

"Just don't try these heroics in Luskan, you won't last a day," the noble advised, referring to Luskan's notoriety for crime and incivility.

"I intend to keep a clean record, though I have no control over the actions of others," Arthas responded. "If they ask for trouble, then I would be exceptionally rude if I didn't oblige their wishes."


	2. Chapter 1: The Frozen North

Chapter I

The Frozen North

_**Year 1400**_

The Frozen North: the vast wilderness in northern Faerun that is so bleak and inhospitable that few choose to make it their home. Within this frozen realm, a bastion of civilization yet remains; the city of Neverwinter: the Jewel of the North. To protect and lead the people of Neverwinter was a hero of epic legends, Lord Nashar Alagondar. While many considered the city impregnable by any army, the newest threat was born not of an outside source, but of an invader from within. Agents of Tiamat, the five-headed dark goddess of chromatic dragons, summoned a single portal within the Beggar's Nest, the weakest district of the city. From this portal came creatures that soon became known as the spawn of Tiamat, for while they resembled chromatic dragons, they were very different foes to contend with.

The army of Neverwinter was then charged with keeping the dark spawn at bay, barricading within the Beggar's Nest. No matter how valiantly the defenders of Neverwinter fought, everyone knew that eventually the spawn of Tiamat would break loose. The spawn would then have to find a nexus of potent ley-energies at which to summon a portal powerful enough to allow Tiamat's passage. Many of Neverwinter's arcane, divine, and shamanistic magi began to search for such a nexus, hoping that they could erect defenses with which to combat the spawn before they could summon their dark goddess and wreak havoc across Faerun.

Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande, Lord Nashar's right hand, sent forth a call for a champion to save the city in these dark times. A rush of would-be heroes stepped forth to answer the call, some drawn by promises of grandeur and glory, others by the lure of gold. The ones with the most potential were enrolled in the academy, where they were tutored by the greatest minds in Neverwinter. All was done in the hopes that a champion would step forth and halt the onslaught of Tiamat's forces.


	3. Chapter 2: Graduation

Chapter II

Graduation

He sat up quickly, drenched in cold sweat from a fearful dream. Six months since the portal was opened and the call went out, Arthas Naiöl, one of the first students to be enrolled in the academy, had awakened on his graduation day from a nightmare. It was the same nightmare he had dreamt every night for two months now. He saw himself in an intense duel with a woman clad in black armor. He never saw her face, and she never spoke, so he could not identify who she was. In the background, he could see the looming symbol of Tiamat, and it grew larger with every dream. Originally, Arthas had dismissed it as a strange dream, but after he continued to have it, he began to think otherwise. Perhaps it was a premonition of the future; perhaps someday he would find himself in this situation.

Turning his mind to happier thoughts, after all it was his graduation day, Arthas dressed in his best clothes. His tunic, cloak, and pants were jet black with silver patterns dancing across the cloth, and his boots and belt were the shade of obsidian. His tabard displayed the coat of arms of his house, a silver sword wreathed in silver flame on a field of black. His sheaths were black with silver runes stamped across the leather, and his twin scimitars had silver wire for hilts, diamonds embedded in the pommels, and blades that shone with flawless silver-wave tempering and diamond-dust edges. A jade crystal hung about his neck by a silver chain. It was an artifact Arthas had had as long as he could remember, and the wizard who identified it said it was a Tear of Nahdril, used to enhance the senses and remain aware of the entity it was bound to. Exactly who this particular Tear of Nahdril was bound to was unknown to Arthas, but for an unexplainable reason, he wasn't concerned with finding out. He believed that when he needed to know, he would.

Arthas looked in the mirror, and looking back at him was a 6' 3" elf with high arched jaw bones, slightly pointed ears, fair skin, flaming red hair that just passed his shoulders, and silver eyes that glowed like twinkling stars.

"Ye almost ready in there, lad?" asked a gruff voice from outside the door. "We're goin' to be late, and I'd rather not be late to me only graduation ceremony."

"Gorion, I think the main reason you don't want to be late is because we get all the food we want, and it is fine food at that," Arthas replied.

"Aye, so? There be a problem wit' me wantn' a decent meal every now an' then? Now come on!" Gorion yelled with earnest.

Arthas turned around and opened the door on a 5' 4" dwarf with whitening tan hair, and a tan beard that went below his belt. A golden staff was slung across his back, and he was garbed in magnificent red-and-gold clothing. His tabard displayed two golden axes crossed behind a golden cracked helm on a field of red.

As the two comrades strode down the corridors to the ceremony courtyard, Arthas surveyed the rooms and halls that had become his familiar home over the past few months, including the tapestries that hung on the walls. They depicted warriors and mages of the epic legends battling demons from the planes of the Twisted Nether. Nothing but the tapestries were fine or expensive, as everything else was melted down or sold to fund the campaigns against Tiamat's forces, so everything in the academy was simple wood, metal, or stone. The passage opened up onto a grand courtyard, which was to be the site of the graduation ceremony. Students from every ilk and profession were gathered in small clumps around the area, saying their goodbyes to the comrades they had befriended while at the academy.

At the back of the yard, journal in hand, was Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande, preparing to congratulate the students who had successfully completed their training. Aribeth was a tall elf with a fair complection and long, chocolate brown hair. She was garbed in a suit of boiled leather covered by an expensive red robe, and wore a hand-and-a-half sword with a lidless eye for the pommel.

"Congratulations," Aribeth began as Arthas and Gorion approached her. "Your training at the academy is now complete. May the blessings of Tyr be upon you. Perhaps after the graduation ceremony, we can speak in private. Neverwinter has need of people like you two. We should arrange to…" Aribeth was cut off as red and black pillars of light erupted in the four corners of the courtyard and the sound of crackling energy filled the air.

"We are under attack! Destroy the invaders!" Aribeth shouted as black demons leaped forth from the pillars. Arthas's swords flashed to his hands as he darted towards the nearest demon.

"Somatca!" he bellowed as he brought his first scimitar in fast on a slant. The silver blades erupted in a gleam of silver lightning, and a ripple of energy crackled outward from the demon as Arthas drove his blade into the demon's thigh. In a swift maneuver, Arthas brought the second sword around and bit deeply into the side of the demon's ribcage. The demon howled in pain, then was incinerated as the magic finished the job. He crossed his swords above his head to catch a demon's arm midway through a downward chop, and continued to scissor it off. He spun his swords to bite deeply into the demon's collarbones, whipped his knee into its stomach, and slammed his forehead into the demon's face.

"Soleno!" Arthas roared, as he spun away and directed a ball of silver flame at a demon who was about to flank Gorion. Just as the demon roared and was consumed in silver flame, Gorion blasted away the demon before him with a large orb of red energy. A single man came through one of the portals before all four closed, leaving a courtyard full of demons to contend with.

"Vat'chok," he screamed, pointing at Aribeth. The demons converged on Aribeth, screeching fell war cries. Aribeth brought her sword to bear, and cut down the first five demons that dared approach her.

"Airiental!" she yelled, bringing her sword down on top of the next demon. An arc of golden light rushed out in a wave that consumed remaining demons in a single flash of brilliance. The man cursed under his breath, and drew a spiked flail stained with the blood of many battles. As he engaged the first student, a dwarf warrior, in battle, the man began a low chant that was forming an orb of black, crackling energy in his free hand.

"Gyestrah!" the man screeched, as he lifted his hand above his head.

Recognizing the spell, Aribeth, Arthas, and Gorion simultaneously shouted "Contego!" erecting auras of magic around themselves. The remainder of the students were struck by beams of black energy, and they screamed as their souls were torn from their bodies. When the spell was complete, the man turned ashen-faced and slumped to the ground. Weakly, the man pulled a small black orb the size of a marble from a belt pouch and dropped it on the ground before him. Black smoke billowed out of the orb, consuming the man. When it cleared, he was gone.

"Listen to me!" Aribeth said earnestly as she spun to face Arthas and Gorion. "There is not much time. I fear this is no random attack we have suffered. Though your questionable background leaves much to be desired, Arthas, I truly need your aid in this. As you may already know, two artifacts were sent by one of our frequent benefactors; Kelbann "Blackstaff" Arunsun, the fabled archmage of Waterdeep, here to the academy. He found a way, through a lengthy ritual, to combine their power into a single, ultimate weapon with which the proper wielder could destroy Tiamat's portal. We have lacked this, "proper wielder" for some time now, and cannot begin the ritual without the wielder. We tried to keep this information secret, but this attack reveals that our enemies know more of our plans then we believed. Hurry! Make your way to the Waterdhavian relics, and make sure our enemy does not steal them! They are in the library."

"Can ye not come wit' us?" Gorion asked.

"I believe they are using dark magic to watch me, and that is what caused the attack to be centered in this yard. If I were to accompany you, I would lead them to the Waterdhavian artifacts. You must do this yourselves. This key will open the door. Now hurry!"

"Do not worry, milady, anu belore dela'na," Arthas assured as they left the room. (a/n Anu belore dela'na "The sun guides us" in Thalassian, the archaic language of the elves)


	4. Chapter 3: The Academy

(Warning: Some of the content may too violent if you are concerned about such a thing. While I say the word "bleeding" I never mention blood, I never mention entrails, but nonetheless, I'm putting this warning.)

Chapter III

The Academy

Not needing anymore prompting, Arthas and Gorion sped back down the hallway they had come from. When they rounded a corner, they came face-to-face with a gigantic monster known as a drider. It possessed the upper body of a dark elf, while the entire monster from the waist down was that of an enormous arachnid. In its hands, this drider wielded two axes the size of Gorion. Arthas sped forward, and the first ax came crashing down inches behind the charging elf, knocking chips out of the stone floor. The second ax swung in a downward arc that whistled over Arthas's head. Arthas's scimitars darted up towards the drider's head, only to be blocked by an ax. As the two traded blows, Arthas knew they were wasting too much time, and used a burst of magic to leap over the drider's head and land on its back. He drove both of his swords into the human flesh of the monster's back, causing the drider to give off a sickening squeal as it collapsed into a heap.

The companions rushed onward through the corridors, meeting no resistance until they stumbled into a massive room filled with inexperienced orcs and ogres, who were ransacking the room in an attempt to find anything of value. As Gorion produced various components from his pockets and began to chant, Arthas leaped into the center of the room bellowing "Tor ilisar'thera'nal!" and whipping his scimitar around to slit the throat of the orc before him, while his second scimitar spun behind him to catch the incoming blade of another. Lightning fast, Arthas kicked the orc squarely in the chest, knocking him backwards into the wall behind him. Pivoting and launching himself from his other foot, he leaped to the side while spinning his scimitars at nearly vertical angles, like the grooves of a screw, and sliced through a knot of orcs to his left. Landing in a crouch, he whipped the pommel of his sword into the face of the nearest orc, while he arched his other sword behind him to hamstring the orc at his back. Swiftly parrying the downward hack of an ax from an ogre, a larger beast than an orc, Arthas struck out with a riposte that slit the creature's wrists. His scimitar drew a line of blood across the chest of an orc and arched higher to intercept the incoming arrow from a crude bow. A knee to the groin and a pommel to the head sent the bleeding ogre crashing into the bowmen, its great bulk crushing the unfortunate orc against the wall. Nearly a dozen of the brutes were transfigured to statues as Gorion finished his incantation, but he gave himself no rest as he began another spell.

Arthas sidestepped the primitive javelin of an orc and let it impale the orc behind him. Ducking beneath the slash of an ogre's halberd, Arthas dove in with a quick jab to the kidney as he rolled beneath the howling creature. As he rose, Arthas deflected the downward chop of an ax into the swinging orc's head, reversed his grip on the blade, and thrust his scimitar behind him into a charging orc's chest. Two rabbit punches met the next orc in the face, a sweep kick crushed the knees of another, and Arthas slammed the heads of his adversaries together, their helmet spikes crunching through each other's skulls. A quick puncture to the lung forced the next orc to double over in pain, allowing Arthas to slash it across the back of the neck. Arthas caught the incoming sword of an orc with the crosspiece of his scimitar and diverted its course to lodge it in the wooden floor. Arthas flipped backwards over an ogre with a trident advancing behind him, causing the orc with his sword in the ground to become impaled on his comrade's weapon. Arthas landed behind the trident wielding ogre, thrusting his scimitar into the ogre's occipital ridge. (a/n the occiptal ridge is where your skull connects to your spinal column) Leaving his sword imbedded in the ogre, Arthas spun around and hurled his other blade into the throat of a chanting shaman, whose arcane muttering became little more than watery gurgles.

Now disarmed, Arthas resorted to different tactics. He caught an incoming blade on his bracers, pushed it back towards the orc, and used it to sunder the brute's skull. A sidestep allowed him to evade the jab of a spear, though the orc's momentum carried it's neck straight into Arthas's waiting foot, causing the orc to fall on it's back and have it's neck crushed by Arthas's plummeting boot. Arthas ducked beneath an orc's ax, then brought his fist up and drove it beneath an ogre's ribcage, while his other fist reached high to smash into the ogre's face, sending shards of bone into its brain. Arthas crouched lower, grabbed the shins of charging orc, whipped the orc from its feet, and slammed its head into the ground. Arthas snatched its weapon, used the blunt end of the glaive to knock high the lunging blades of four orcs, and swiped the blade across their exposed bellies. Arthas braced the glaive against the ground and impaled a charging ogre, then spun the ogre around with his foot in the same fluid motion in which Arthas grabbed an orc and jammed it down onto the glaive in front of its companion. Spinning around behind the impaled pair, Arthas kicked the butt of the glaive to spear a third victim on the crude but deadly point. A red flash emanated from Gorion, and the eight brutes around him collapsed to the ground, clutching their throats that drew no air.

Arthas's thrown knife took an ogre in the groin, causing it to belly-flop onto the table in front of it. Arthas wrenched a ranseur from the grasp of a charging orc and spun it about fast enough to impale the orc on its own momentum. He allowed the orc to continue down the shaft and slide off the blunt end as Arthas reversed the momentum again to flip the ranseur over and plunge it through the throat of the dazed ogre on the table. Arthas used the ranseur to pole vault over the table and a pair of hurled bolas, grabbed his sword imbedded in the ogre, kicked off a charging orc to launch himself towards his other sword, and recovered it in the same fluid movement that he diverted the jab of a spear with his other blade. The newly recovered scimitar arced around in a backwards spiral and slid up the incoming blade of an orc to bite deeply into its forehead. The orcs, though not the brightest of beings, still had enough sense to know they were overmatched, and began to flee. Finishing his chant, Gorion lifted his now glowing hands into the air and began to launch red bolts of fire and lightning into the now scattering ranks of orcs.

A hissing sound erupted from a nearby passage, and a creature known as a naga with the torso of a six-armed human and the body of a snake slithered into the room. It wielded a long sword in every hand, and the creature surged forward to engage Arthas in the melee. Arthas broke away from the remaining ogre by leaping into the air, catching the ogre's head in his feet, snapping its neck, launching himself from the falling corpse, and slipping his scimitar into a high parry that caught the naga's first blade in a shower of sparks.

Arthas parried the next four-dozen strikes with increasing difficulty, and his parries began to leave his torso vulnerable. The naga forced Arthas's defenses higher and higher, until the beast drove forward with all six blades. Arthas crossed both his scimitars into a downward **V**, forcing the naga's swords to bite deeply into the floor. Arthas brought his foot between the hilts of his scimitars, slamming the naga directly in the face. The naga bent backwards, all six swords still embedded in the wood of the floor, the locked gauntlets it wore preventing it from relinquishing its weapons. Arthas continued to push forward, connecting his forehead with the naga's nose, and slashed his scimitars across its now vulnerable throat. Gorion had finished off the rest of the orcs as Arthas had dueled the naga, and the room was now cleared of enemies.

Rushing onward, they came to the library, only to find the chests broken and empty. Two men were in the room, their weapons freshly bloodied, standing in the midst of a goblin massacre.

"We came too late," the first man began. He was shorter than average, and wore robes that gave his rank as an acolyte of Tyr, the god of Justice.

"All is lost, Fenthick. The artifacts have disappeared, and the hope of forging the weapon has gone with them. And where was Aribeth during all this?" the second man asked. He was a tall, older man wearing the clothing of the Helmites, a group of priests and warriors dedicated to Helm, the god of protection.

"Aribeth sent us; she did not want to lead the invaders to the Waterdhavian relics," said Arthas.

"What!" shouted the second man. "Aribeth sent two whelps to combat an invading force and protect artifacts that are key to Neverwinter's survival? Is she mad?"

"Desther, don't speak of Aribeth like that, she knew what she was doing. I imagine these are very talented individuals, not 'whelps' as you say," scolded Fenthick.

"Bah, it doesn't matter, the relics are gone, and I must be off to clean up the rest of the invaders." Desther said as he stormed through the door Arthas had come through.

"You must forgive Desther," Fenthick began. "The strain of Tiamat's forces weighs heavily on the Helmites. I'm Fenthick Moss, and am a priest of Tyr. You two must be the one's Aribeth spoke of. The ones with 'the most potential this academy has ever seen', as she puts it. If you are truly as great as she says, I would welcome your aid to recover the Waterdhavian relics."

"We will gladly answer the call to aid Neverwinter," Arthas said immediately.

"Good, I hope to see you at the Halls of Justice within a week, then," Fenthick said before he strode out the door.

"Damn elf," Gorion muttered as he looked accusingly at Arthas.


	5. Chapter 4: The City Core

(Disclaimer: Obviously, I claim no right to the Neverwinter Nights material in this chapter. This disclaimer is necessary so I don't get in trouble. That's bad.)

Chapter IV

The City Core

Two days later, Gorion and Arthas met Fenthick in the entrance corridors of the Halls of Justice.

"You were quick to answer to the summons. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Halls of Justice," Fenthick said graciously.

"This is a mistake, Fenthick. You know all about his past, what he used to do. How can you so blindly trust him?" Desther shot angrily.

"Desther! Arthas and Gorion have done nothing but aid us during these dark times, and Aribeth has only compliments about their abilities. In fact, Arthas possesses such unnatural finesse with his swords that Aribeth thinks even she would be hard pressed to even match him. And Gorion's knowledge of evocational magic is stunning."

"Aribeth's words mean nothing to me. She would find something nice to say about an ogre savage who had just murdered an entire village in cold blood. They trained at an academy for a few months, but that doesn't mean they are now heroes!" Desther replied hotly.

"If we are so worthless, then surely you would not mind if we died, so where is the harm in sending us?" Arthas inquired.

"Well, I, it is just that, I, well…" Desther stammered

"Out with it, ye troll-brained buffoon," Gorion cut in sharply.

"It doesn't matter!" Desther finally shouted.

"There, was that so hard?" Arthas asked sarcastically.

"Charm is a learned act," Desther sneered.

"So is murder," Arthas replied firmly.

"This is not the time to argue," Fenthick began. "Arthas, Gorion, go speak to Aribeth. She will further explain what you need to do."

Arthas and Gorion strode past the fuming Desther, but before they reached the main area of the temple, Arthas was summoned back.

"Just one thing, Arthas, what is it that drives you?" Fenthick called. "We can't offer much in reward for your services, yet you put your full effort into aiding our cause. Why?"

"Why do I help?" Arthas questioned. "Why do I risk danger? Because I failed her."

Without waiting for the inevitable question of who and how, Arthas joined Gorion in the main area of the temple.

"Welcome to you," Aribeth said as she gracefully bowed before the companions. "I regret I did not get a chance to introduce myself properly while you were training at the academy. I am Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande, paladin in the service of Tyr, and the right hand of Nashar Alagondar, Lord of Neverwinter. I have been looking forward to meeting you. The attack on the academy doused the one faint spark of hope the city had of destroying Tiamat's portal. Your job, as you may have guessed, is to venture into the outer districts of Neverwinter and aid in the search for these artifacts. The two relics you must locate are as follows: A solid diamond buckler with the symbol of a key engraved on the inside, and a white-gold staff with the symbol of a key etched into it and topped with crowned wings. They are most likely scattered throughout the docks district and the prison district, as these are the most remote, and probably provide the best sanctuaries for the thieves to hide. I would recommend you start in the prison district, as the ensuing chaos of the recent prison break will likely distract the guards, allowing a thief to sneak by unnoticed. Good luck, and may the blessings of Tyr be upon you."

"We'll need help," Gorion whispered to Arthas as they walked away. "I know yer good wit' them swords, but we need someone who knows _these_ streets, someone who can give us information that we'll certainly need."

"It would be nice to have someone familiar with this particular area, but how would we find such a person?" Arthas responded as they walked through the great oaken doors of the temple.

"Shouldn't be too hard. In fact, I think that might be the very man we're to be lookin' for," Gorion commented as he pointed toward a halfling who was having some sort of scuffle with a city guardsman.

"Listen to what they're sayin'," Gorion whispered.

"I was only walkin' down the street, mindin' me own business I was. I haven't done notin' wrong," the halfling said.

"I know you don't wander anywhere, Tomi Undergallows. You were out sniffing where your nose doesn't belong," the guard shot back.

"He's with us, sir," Arthas shouted at the guard.

"Just play along, no harm will come to ye," Gorion muttered to Tomi.

"And who are you?" the guard asked Arthas.

"I am Arthas Naiöl, a noble from the house of the Silver Flame. This is an old family friend, Gorion. Tomi here was gathering the information I sought concerning some old associates. I hope he hasn't caused any trouble."

"No, none at all, my lord," the guard replied hastily.

"Good, you are dismissed," Arthas said with an air of authority.

"Well 'ello there," Tomi began as soon as the guard was out of earshot. "You have the smell of a prospective employer about you lad, not that it's easy to smell anything with all these burning corpses 'bout this city mind you. Never seen this many flies outside of a Calimshan alehouse."

"You are right about one thing, Tomi Undergallows, we are looking to hire one of your _particular_ talents, though I frown upon talking about the many deaths caused by the Tiamat's armies so lightly," Arthas replied.

"You can cut the 'Undergallows' nonsense. I'm 'Tomi' to me fellows, 'Tomi Grin' to the lasses, and 'that damn halfling' to anyone in a position of respectable authority," Tomi responded. "Say, I never did find out what it was we were to be doin'."

"We are on a quest from Lady Aribeth; we are to acquire certain items for her benefit and that of Neverwinter. The rest is confidential," Arthas replied.

"Aribeth's name is all I needed to know. Her reputation precedes her. I'm smellin' adventure afoot. Either that or I need to wash me socks, one o' the two," Tomi said with a grin.

"The first place we'll be heading is the prison district of the city, and I was hoping you would know how to get us into the prison. While the riots have scared off the guards, the escaped convicts from the most recent prison riot have fortified all the doors and lower windows into the prison. No one can get past those fortifications. Do you think…"Arthas began.

"Of course I can get ya'll in. Ye only said the lower windows, righ'?" Tomi interrupted.

"Yes, but…" Arthas was cut short again.

"Then all we have to do is get to the high ones," Tomi inserted.

"I know that, but…" Arthas was beginning to sound aggravated.

"But nothin', and I know them walls are smoothed flat to make them impossible to climb, for normal folks that is. But I ain't normal. I'll get us up them walls, all ye have to do is get me to 'em, and I can even help wit' that part. Take these rings," Tomi explained as he gave them each a silver ring embedded with a turquoise ringed in alternating opals and twin rubies. "I have more where they came from, but they will allow ye to teleport short distances. ."

"And how did you acquire these rings, pray tell?" Arthas asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I, er, borrowed them wit'out permission and wit' no intent o' returning 'em," Tomi said hesitantly.

"You mean you stole them," Arthas accused.

"As I said, 'borrowed', but the city guards also view it as stealing," Tomi replied hastily.

"We'd best get moving, the more time we waste talking the longer the portal is opened and the more spawn are unleashed," Arthas said earnestly.


	6. Chapter 5: The Prison District

(Disclaimer: Again, no Neverwinter Nights content belongs to me)

Chapter V

The Prison District

After entering the prison district, the companions were met with a contingent of guards entrenched behind a spiked barricade. A man who seemed to be the leader strode over to the three and pulled them aside.

"This district has become increasingly dangerous with the recent prison break outs. I advise you to return to the safety of the City Core, and leave the prisoners to us, the professionals," the man said, motioning towards the great iron gates which separated the City Core from the smaller districts of the city.

"I think ye have us mistakin' fer people who can't take of 'imself," Gorion began, a hint of irritation in his voice. "We _can_ take care of ourselves. Now move yerself out of our way or ye'll be no bigger than a thimble."

"Watch your tongue, dwarf. Your hollow bravado does not impress…" the guard started to say, before he seemed to flinch, pale, and slump to the ground. A man leaped out of the shadows and bolted towards the prison that was in the center of the district.

"Your captain is down!" Arthas shouted to the alert guards. "He needs immediate attention! Give me cover from a follow-up attack!" Arthas knelt over the guard and pulled a small dart out his neck and sniffed it. "Drat, poison, we don't have much time. Gorion, start a hot fire and conjure pure water," Arthas said, as he began to pull herbs and a small bowl from his pack.

Gorion drew a circle with crimson powder, muttered a few words, and white hot flames billowed up from inside the circle. He produced a steel bowl from his pack, murmured softly, and water seemed to pour from his outstretched hand. Having ground his herbs with a pestle while Gorion had worked, Arthas poured the powder into the bowl and stirred it over the fire. Once the substance began to take on the look of stew and the smell of the sea, Arthas poured the liquid down the injured man's throat. After a few long minutes, the man sat up with a jerk, spitting up some of potion that remained in his mouth.

"Gah, that was awful! It feels like I fell asleep in a manure trough," the man spat, still coughing up the appalling substance. "But I guess I owe you my life, and for that I thank you. If you are as good with the blade as you are with medicine, you will have no problem dealing with the rabble that broke out of the prison. All I need is your names so that I can make my report to Aribeth and Nashar.

"I am Arthas Naiöl, a noble of the house of the Silver Flame, and these are my companions, Gorion Dwalin, of the Sundered Helm, and Tom…" Arthas began.

"Thomas Braeldarth, yep, that'd be me," Tomi cut in.

"Well, good luck to you then, and please don't die. I hate reporting deaths to Aribeth and Nashar," the guard said sympathetically.

Once they were around the corner and out of earshot of the guards, Arthas pinned Tomi to the wall with his forearm, drew his scimitar, and put the point at the rogue's belly in one fluid motion.

"Hey, what the…" Tomi started to say.

"Why did you lie to those guards, Tomi Undergallows? Surely a small-time thief like you isn't wanted by the law? Or is there something you are hiding from us, something we should know?" Arthas interrogated, keeping his face stern.

"Let me down an' I'll tell ye everythin' ye want to know, and probably more than yer wantin' to know," Tomi said, a tone of seriousness in his voice.

Arthas stared at Tomi, trying to read his face, and stated, "Well, it certainly didn't take much prompting for you to agree to spill everything."

"What can I say, yer very convincin'. And I was plannin' on tellin' ye eventually anyways," Tomi returned.

Arthas lowered Tomi to the ground and sheathed his scimitar, though all three of them knew that wouldn't slow him down at all if he needed it again.

"Truth is I ain't from around here. I come from the city of Calimport, in the realm of Calimshan. Ye probably know it's the city of thieves, and I was one of the chief thieves and assassins. I was the untouchable; no one got in me territory or tried to convict me. That all changed when Artemis Entreri came. He challenged my rule, and asked me to prove me right to rule the streets of Calimport. We fought in single combat-no magical aid, no artifacts, just skill against skill. I faced my enemy, I looked into his eyes, and I lost. His resolve, his complete belief he would win threw me off. I came here in hopes that I could find a new life as a mercenary. But when that failed, when no one wanted to have a halfling rogue watching their back, I resorted to theft to get by," Tomi explained.

"I accept your excuses for now, but stay in front of us." Arthas replied. "I learned at a young age that I cannot trust in or count on anyone but myself. To do so invites deceit and despair and opens a vulnerability that can be exploited. To do so is weakness."

"Is that why ye never ask for help?" Gorion questioned. "Is that why ye can't seem to accept the fact there are people in this world who actually care about ye?"

"I trusted once, loved once, but that created a susceptibility that can be and was exploited. I do not want to return to the place of unbridled ferocity I experienced after she was gone," Arthas explained.

"Who was this amazing person who made one as impersonal as you love?" Gorion asked, his tone wavering between seriousness and sarcasm.

"A story for another time, until then this topic is closed," Arthas shot back, his burning silver eyes indicating that he truly meant it.

"_Anyways_, to get us past the prisoner's barricades," Tomi began as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the prison. "We can use the rings I gave ye. Just turn the ring around on yer finger for three complete rotations, concentratin' on the area to which ye wan' to teleport. Like this."

He twisted the ring around his finger, and he became sheathed in brilliant blue flames. He then vanished from the center of the inferno and appeared in a column of the same colored flame, only this time he was behind the barricades.

"Come on!" Tomi yelled. "We don't have all day, let's go!"

Gorion and Arthas twisted their rings, vanished in brilliant blue flames, and appeared next to Tomi on the other side of the barricade.

"Now, to get up to the high windows, all ye…" a crossbow bolt cut Tomi short as it whizzed past, inches from the halfling's face, and buried itself an inch into the clay wall behind him.

"Down, get down!" Arthas bellowed, drawing his scimitars and leaping towards the source of shot. He leaped into the window, his foot leading, and slammed the sole of his boot into the archer's chest, breaking his "floating ribs" and knocking him to the ground. Arthas's scimitar whipped up to slay the man beside him, while silver lightning arched from his other hand to envelop an approaching swordsman. Arthas spun forward, his pommel cracking another man on the back of the head, whipped his knee into a charging man's chest, kicked his feet from beneath him, and pinned him to the ground with his other foot planted firmly on the man's back.

"Why do you attack us?" Arthas asked the man he held prone.

"Ye would try to quell our rise," the man groaned.

"What if I told you that was not our motive. What if I told you I was simply looking for an item of interest to me?" Arthas replied.

"I would ask ye what item ye be seekin'," the man answered weakly.

"It would be an item you came across recently, one that appears to be of great value, and please be quick, you are testing my patience,"

"Are ye talkin' about the staff? We was given a shiny staff by a cloaked man maybe two days back. It was all white an' topped wit' a pair o' wings," the man said shakily.

"Take me and my companions to it and we will leave your people alone," Arthas responded.

"I cannot take ye to it, but I can take ye to someone who can," the man replied.

"That will do, lead on. Don't try to run off, either, or you'll end up like him," Arthas said calmly, as he gestured towards the scorched remains of the lightning victim.

The man rose slowly and began to trudge towards the central building. Arthas beckoned for Tomi and Gorion to come with them, and the four men moved slowly towards the menacing building that was the prison.

The rag-tag guards eyed the companions with suspicion, but let them pass after making eye contact with the man leading them. Arthas tried to keep track of the labyrinth of corridors, but lost count after nearly five minutes of walking through the winding passageways. The hall finally opened onto a room with a makeshift throne in the center. On it sat a man crowned with a circlet of bones and wielding the staff that the companions sought.

The man leading them bowed before the man on the throne and said, "Lord Tichondrius, these adventurers seek not to end our riot, but to claim that staff. They are powerful indeed, and they agree to leave us alone if we give them the staff. If they fight us, I believe we will lose."

"Their power will be for me to decide. Not their prowess with the blade, for I do not doubt that. It takes quite a swordsman to shake you, Aaron. I would, however, test their magical skill. I sense great power around the dwarf and I wish to see how great. He and I will duel with magic. The victor will be obvious, for the other will be nothing but a black stain on the floor. When I win, his companions leave and never return. If the dwarf is victorious, the staff is his, my men will leave him and his companions alone, and you three must agree to never oppose this rebellion. I will teleport us to a different plane, so that we do not harm my citadel. I want this decided now," Tichondrius stated, his impatience obvious.

Not giving time for a response, Tichondrius teleported Gorion and himself to a different plane, ringed the arena in fire, and summoned a full-size mirror before Arthas and Tomi so that they had a view of the entire arena.

"Our magic will not penetrate the boundary between the planes, but the mirror will still allow you to watch your friend's demise," Tichondrius sneered.

Gorion and Tichondrius strode to opposite sides of the arena, turned to face each other, and Tichondrius held up a gray scarf. When the two wizards made eye contact, Tichondrius dropped the scarf. The moment the fabric touched the ground, the combatants leaped into action.

Orbs of green energy leaped from Tichondrius' hand, and Gorion threw up a veil of violet powder to absorb them. Tiny orbs of fire danced on Gorion's fingertips and launched themselves into a spiral around his head. A flick of his wrist could cause one to expand and send it spiraling towards Tichondrius, who was forced to dispel them with an aura of sea-green light. Tichondrius filled the room with a blinding flash of light, and when vision returned, he was no longer a man, but a great cloud of billowing smoke and debris. The raging cyclone sped towards Gorion, but was halted by a great trench that Gorion sundered into the ground with a brutal cutting motion with his hand. When Tichondrius returned to his natural state, he was met by a barrage of fireballs that filled the field with a raging inferno. Great bolts of red lightning flashed from the cloud, followed by green meteors crashing down on the duel. Chasms tore through the earth, hurling columns of fire into the darkened sky. When the cataclysmic effects cleared, Gorion held his enchanter's rod above his head, victorious.


	7. Chapter 6: The Docks District

(Disclaimer: Again, no Neverwinter Nights content belongs to me.)

Chapter VI

The Docks District

The companions met no resistance as they left the district, and the guards, seeing the weakened state Gorion was in, didn't even ask them to explain themselves. The comrades did not stop walking until they reached the Halls of Justice, whereupon Aribeth called down from her god a blessing of healing and restoration. His friend well again, Arthas handed over the staff and explained what happened in the Prison District.

"While I do not like the fact that you can no longer aid us in quelling the prisoner's uprising, I am eternally grateful that you have taken this great step towards recovering the relics necessary to seal the demonic portal for good. Battling the demons has drained the coffers of Neverwinter. I regret that I can offer you no more than my thanks for all that you have accomplished," Aribeth said.

"That is no problem, milady. Your thanks is reward enough," Arthas replied.

"I wish others were as selfless as you. Then we wouldn't have the problem in the docks," Aribeth responded.

"What problems?" Arthas asked.

"Since the workers and sailors in the docks aren't being paid as much due to the demonic invasion, many of them have resorted to thievery, hiring themselves out as thugs. Be wary of them, for while they may be not be the most talented fighters, there are many of them, perhaps too many for three people to get past," Aribeth warned.

"We will be careful. Ande'thoras-ethil, lady," Arthas said as he bowed and strode towards the door, Gorion and Tomi following close behind. (a/n Ande'thoras-ethil "May your troubles be diminished" in Thalassian, the archaic language of the elves)

This time there was no contingent of guards to stop the comrades when they reached the district. Instead, there was a duo of strongly built thugs wearing a strangely patterned serpentine tabard and awkwardly wielding baselards. (a/n A baselard is a sword measuring somewhere between a dagger and a shortsword at 40-70cm.)

"Anaria shola," Arthas stated as he approached them. (a/n Anaria shola "Speak your business" in Thalassian)

"Father's beard, I think the rabble's leader is partially educated," the apparent superior of the two began. "Must mean ye've got money, and we'll be wantin' that."

"I'm not paying you until you apologize for your insult, good sir," Arthas replied sternly.

"Apologize to rabble?" the man scoffed. "Unlikely. Now pay up."

"I'm not paying you until you apologize. I take insults to myself and my companions very seriously, and I'm not paying until you apologize to us," Arthas reiterated calmly.

"D'ye know who we are?" the man asked.

"No, do you know who I am?" Arthas responded.

"No," the man replied dumbly.

"Good," Arthas said before he slammed the men's heads together, knocking them both unconscious to the ground.

"For a minute I thought yer intent was to talk 'em into unconsciousness," Gorion said, leaning on his rod and grinning broadly.

The streets of the Docks District were eerily quiet. The companions saw no one until Arthas spotted a single elf in dark clothing creeping from shadow to shadow.

"Fandu-dath-belore?" Arthas called at the elf's now retreating form. (a/n Fandu-dath-belore? "Who goes there?" in Thalassian)

Hearing the call, the elf broke into a full sprint, and Arthas dashed after the strange figure. It took nearly two minutes of running for Arthas to close the distance between him and street-raised elf. It would have taken longer, had Arthas not blasted an upcoming bridge from beneath the fleeing elf's feet with a well-aimed bolt of silver lightning. The elf was forced to backpedal to keep from falling off, and he still nearly fell. The only thing that saved him from the frigid waters below was the flying form of Arthas tackling him and knocking both of them into the lip of the far side of the river, where Arthas found a hand-hold. Arthas grabbed the collar of the elf's tunic and hauled him them both onto safe land. He rolled the elf onto his stomach and planted his knee firmly into the elf's back between the shoulder blades.

"That orc-brained, troll-sniffin', son of an ogre an' a rock is goin' to get us all killed someday, I swear!" came Gorion's bellow from the other side of the torrent of surging water. "Ye need to stop bein' so foolish, lad, you might not make it one day."

"Is it not more foolish to follow a fool than to be one?" Arthas called back.

As Gorion tried to reason through this, Arthas turned back to his prisoner.

"Who hired you to watch us?" Arthas questioned much more seriously to his captive as he drove his knee further into the man's back.

"It was a wizard, the man who was chosen by the serpent queen to lead the invasion. His name was Mau…" The elf was cut off with fierce hacking that came from the back of his throat. The elf appeared to be choking on nothing, and he continued to choke until he drew breath no more.

"He was bound by magic not to say his master's name," Gorion told them.

He had teleported both himself and Tomi to the side of the bridge where Arthas was.

"I can feel the bindin' leavin' with his spirit. A cleric couldn't even call his spirit back to question it because the bindin' would still be in place. Whoever we're dealin' with is very powerful and apparently requires a great deal of secrecy," Gorion continued.

"We don't have time to bury him, so we'll do the best we can," Arthas said coldly, kicking the elf's body into the river at the same time.

"Now let's get moving," he said coldly.

Before they could even take a step, Arthas reacted to the sudden lack of wind at his back purely on instinct and whipped his scimitars up behind him, where they were met with a resounding ring of metal on metal. The swordsman's invisibility wore off as he danced back from Arthas's parry, then lunged in again, point leading. Arthas spun away from the stab, swinging his sword around in a spiral towards the man's back. The man flipped over the swing, spinning his sword underneath him to hack at Arthas's legs. Arthas jumped over the swing and shot his foot out to connect solidly with the man's face. The man bent easily and drew a line of blood on Arthas's cheek with a hurled dagger. He soon found his feet knocked from beneath him as Arthas's sweep kick crushed his knees. As he lay on the ground, broken and defeated, he saw Arthas's looming form over him.

"Finish it," the man said firmly. "Kill me."

"Mercy is the mark of great man," Arthas replied. He slashed the man's cheek in the same manner his was scratched.

"I guess I'm just a good man," Arthas told the man. He slashed the man's other cheek.

"Well, I'm okay," Arthas said, as he sheathed his swords.

"Ye know he'll report to his master, even if he has to crawl all the way there. He should not be spared," Gorion said solemnly.

"I want him to. Let his master know we do not fear him. Let his master know there is nothing he can do to stop us," Arthas responded.

He knelt before the man and said, "Tell your master, if he truly wishes us dead, we will be waiting at the pier," as he gestured towards the dock down the road. "Tell him to come at midnight tonight. We will be waiting."

Arthas tossed the man's swords into the river and healed the man's knees by imbedding a silver light into them. He lifted him into the air by his collar and threw him away from the bridge.

"Now go!" he shouted after the man.

The man scrambled to regain his footing, and then sprinted off into the darkness.

"Are ye sure that was a wise choice, lad? Who knows what his master will send against ye?" Gorion asked.

"We will prepare for anything. If he comes alone, it will be three versus one and he will lose. If he comes with an army, we will also be ready. The pier serves as a bottleneck; we'll only have to contend with half-a-dozen at a time. We will also rig traps beneath the pier, in barrels, and on lantern posts. We shall be ready for anything. Now let's get to work, I don't fancy getting attacked before we've prepared," Arthas replied sternly.

"I'll erect wards that will warn us of their coming, though they won't do much in the way of killin'," Gorion added.

"At least we won't be surprised," Tomi inserted.

"Many I've killed have uttered similar last words," Arthas replied.

"Then I'm glad once again that yer on me own side," Gorion responded.

"They've often said that as well," Arthas finished.

"Ye should rest soon lad, the strain this endeavor is putting' on ye is makin' ye change," Gorion said in a concerned tone. "I don't like who ye're becomin'."


	8. Chapter 7: Midnight's Edge

(Disclaimer: Again, no Neverwinter Nights content belongs to me)

Chapter VII

Midnight's Edge

The companions spent the remainder of the day and night rigging traps to prepare for the coming of their mysterious enemy. The comrades finished after dusk, checked their preparations, and waited.

Scant seconds before midnight, a great ruckus arose on the horizon, and a horde of men surged towards the docks and through the barricade.

"I know you will not listen," Gorion called to the coming tide. "But I ask you to surrender your weapons or we will have to hurt you."

"Shindu fallah na!" Arthas yelled over the cries of the approaching foes. (Shindu fallah na! "They're breaking through!" in Thalassian, the archaic language of the elves)

At exactly midnight, the first man crossed the boundary between the dock and the street, and was met by a red lightning bolt in the face. Archers lined up on the street, sending volleys of barbed shafts toward the companions. A translucent barrier seemed to ripple every time an arrow struck it. Red flames erupted around the rear of the force, cutting off all retreat. Tomi loosed his own shots on the archers, and his arrows passed easily through the barrier as though it was non-existent. Arthas leaped into the front of the horde, spinning his swords and feet in a dervish dance, lashing out at everything that got too close. During his dance, Arthas cut and pulled ropes that dropped barrels, triggered crossbows, flipped planks, and unleashed bolts of magic from various wands. Dozens were slain; others were knocked into the frigid waters and drowned in the frothing waves.

Arthas crossed both his scimitars in a downward **V** in front of him, trapping three of the four lunging blades. He spun the trapped swords in a clockwise spiral to knock the fourth blade harmlessly high, then darted in with dozens of quick jabs to leave multiple mortal wounds in each of his opponents. A snap kick sent one of the falling combatants into the charge of his companions, staggering all three of them into the frigid waters. A rapid flurry of slashes kept the next foes on their heels in a futile attempt to maintain their balance. Arthas tossed one of his scimitars high into the air, wrenched a glaive from the grasp of his enemy, and cut the legs from beneath half-a-dozen foes. Arthas spun around a charge, gutted the man now behind him with a backwards stab, caught his scimitar behind his head, and brought it down to slice an opponent from collarbone to naval.

Suddenly, the archers ceased fire, the melee thugs backed away from Arthas, and all cleared a path for an approaching, hulking form. Over seven feet tall, it was clad entirely in flawless, gleaming plate mail, wearing a skull helm crested with a lidless, serpentine eye, and wielding an over-sized claymore. It was an exotic weapon, usually only found with the larger humanoid races, a six-foot blade on a two foot-haft.

He came in faster than one would have believed possible in plate mail, nearly catching Arthas off-guard with an overhand hack. Although Arthas got his scimitar up in time to block the swing, he was forced down by the brute's superior size and weight. Arthas dropped one of his swords into his sheath and locked the claymore in the hilt of his sword. He forced his adversary backwards using both hands, allowing Arthas to regain his footing. Arthas dropped beneath the side swing from the monster's shoulder, and lashed out with his leg in an attempt to knock his opponent off-balance. The effect was like kicking a castle wall. As his foot connected with it's shin, Arthas's muscle went numb, his bone creaked, and his entire body shuddered. Holding the bind with one hand, the brute grabbed the neck of Arthas's tabard and tried to cast him off the dock, but their swords were locked too tightly together. The hulk tore his claymore free of the bind and slipped his hands down the hilt as he jabbed forward with the blade. Arthas, who had been pulled to his feat by the disengagement, attempted to knock the sword aside with one of his, but a single arm did not have the strength to knock aside the mighty weapon. He was forced to spin off balance to avert the blade, and it cost him his counter attack and his footing. Before he tumbled completely into the freezing sea, Arthas jammed his scimitar into the post that held the dock above the waves. Pain shot through his arm as he jerked to a stop, and he dipped into the water, which surged about him half-way up his chest. As his body began to numb, and Arthas tried to haul himself back onto the dock, the great sword bit deeply into the wood above his head. It was torn free with great rending sound, and the dock creaked and sank deeper into the water. Arthas leaped to another support not a second too soon, for a second swing of the great sword tore his previous lifeline from the pier, taking with it an entire section of the wharf. Now Tomi, Gorion, and the hulking man were stranded on a single strip of dock, with Arthas clinging for dear life to the underside.

The man turned his attention to Gorion and Tomi, and with an uppercut of his fist, knocked Tomi over the water and into the awaiting mob. No screams rose into the night, for the blow had knocked the halfling unconscious. The thugs tied him from head to foot in thick hemp rope and tossed him behind the wall of men. While they were occupied with Tomi, Gorion threw up a veil of white powder and vanished in a flash of light. Knowing his chances of survival would be better; Arthas let himself fall into the frigid water and allowed it to carry him away with the current.


	9. Chapter 8: Storm, Earth, and Fire

Chapter VIII

Storm, Earth, and Fire

Lightning split the sky, drawing a jagged scar of light across the darkened sky. As if summoned by the flash, the rain beat harder against the worn hull of _The Scarlet Raven_, a merchant vessel that transported goods between Waterdeep and Luskan. Waves foamed and crashed about the vessel, knocking the ship about like a child's toy. Olef, the ship's pilot, held tighter to the wheel and cursed beneath his breath. A monster of a wave rose up before the craft, crashing with fury upon the ancient deck, scattering crew and goods alike. Wind tore at the sails and ropes, whipping them about in the wind so that the silhouette of the ship appeared to be a writhing monster.

"Gods are angry about something, I figure," Olef cursed beneath his breath.

"Sir!" a crewman shouted above the gale. "There's a man in the water, off the starboard side!"

"Reel him in, boys!" the ship's captain, Kael'thas, bellowed to his weather-beaten crew. He stood at nearly six-feet, had tanned skin, flowing golden hair, and his eyes were the color of the raging sea.

A stream of men surged towards the starboard side. The strongest of them, a man named Tygor, tied the securing line about his waist, threw it to the rest of the crew, and dived into the water. Powerful arms pumped through the water, bringing Tygor closer to the floating body with every stroke. Wrapping the man in a great bear hug, he gave two sharp pulls on the rope, the signal to the crew to bring him back in. As the crew hauled on the rope, water surged about the two men, and it took all the strength Tygor could muster to hold onto his charge. When the two were finally brought, soaking wet, onto the relative safety of the deck, the castaway was taken below deck while the rest of the crew manned their posts to wait out the storm.

After the storm finally subsided, Kael'thas, Olef, and Tygor, surrounded by many of the crew, ventured down to see how their unexpected passenger fared. He was awake, but still couldn't stand on his own. When the crew walked in he was trying to stand to greet them, but could hardly raise an inch off the ground.

"Easy there, friend," Kael'thas told the man. "How did you end up in the sea? And dressed like that, I doubt you could survive long in those frigid waters," he continued, surveying the man and seeing the fine clothes, weapons, and possessions of a noble. "It is a wonder you didn't sink when you first fell in the water, weighted down with those weapons and gear."

"Where am I, and who are you?" Arthas asked wearily.

"You are below the deck of _The Scarlet Raven_, a merchant vessel. We are somewhere between Luskan and Waterdeep, though thanks to the storm, we don't know exactly where," Kael'thas responded. "I am Kael'thas, captain of this ship, the man next to me is Tygor, a learned scholar and our ship's main fighter, who specializes in the claymore, and the man in the back is our pilot, Olef. Now I ask again, how did you end up this far out to sea? We are miles upon miles from shore and we haven't seen another ship in days."

"I was fighting on the docks and was knocked off," Arthas replied.

"Where were the docks? I don't know of any ports near here," Kael'thas questioned.

"Neverwinter," Arthas stated.

"Neverwinter!" shouted the crew. Murmurs began rippling through crowd.

"Impossible!" Kael'thas' voice rang above the rest, silencing his crew. "There is no way you could survive a float of that long in waters such as these. Even if you could defend yourself from the animals, the cold would have claimed your life for sure. Do you remember anything-any other assistance someone might have given you?" Kael'thas asked.

"I don't remember anything after dropping off the dock and slipping into unconsciousness due to the arctic waters," Arthas responded.

"Well, either you are blessed by the gods, or extremely lucky. Whichever it is, I wouldn't try anything like that again. Miracles like that don't happen often," Tygor said from beside his captain, as he repositioned the claymore slung across his back.

Suddenly, an explosion was heard outside the boat, its reverberations rocking the entire ship.

"Damn it, Olef, you're supposed to be driving this rig. Now get your arse up there or it'll be you we load into the ballista!" Kael'thas bellowed as Olef and the crew scrambled back onto the deck.

"Pull me to the top of the stairs I'll not lay here like a useless whelp," Arthas spat as he futilely attempted to stand.

Tygor hauled Arthas to the top of the stairs as another explosion shook the ship, straining the already weather-beaten vessel to its limits. Small fires erupted around the area of the blasts, and their cause was revealed as another arcane ball of fire and lightning was launched from an approaching ship.

"Turn the ballista about. Let's return fire with the only ranged weapon we got!" Kael'thas yelled over the roaring flames. "Those not on the artillery crew, put out the fires. Burnt goods don't sell!"

As the men rushed to the ballista, a woman leaped and landed with the grace of a cat on _The Scarlet Raven_ and strode towards Arthas through the embers of a smoldering fire. Her hair flowed like a river of dark, molten lava nearly halfway down her six-foot frame. She had fair skin, soul piercing sky blue eyes, and wore clothing of dark leather. In one hand she held a slightly curved cutlass that crackled with lightning, while the other hand carried a spiked bola.

"This is the one," she said, her gaze firmly on Arthas.

"Get away from him!" Tygor bellowed, as he charged the woman, claymore raised for a downward hack.

The woman, in one fluid motion nearly too quick to follow, spun about, disarmed Tygor with her bola, and bashed him in the face with the pommel of her sword. As Tygor slumped, unconscious, to the ground, the woman knocked Arthas into a similar state with her sword hilt and hoisted him over her shoulder with surprising ease for one of her size. She grabbed a flailing rope and swung back over to the attacking boat, yelling for her crew to pull back and make for the shore, for they had gotten what they came for.


	10. Chapter 9: Changes

Chapter IX

Changes

When Arthas awoke, he was again below the decks of a ship, though with much different furnishings. Simple furniture decorated the room, and he was lying on a relatively good bed, considering he was at sea. His swords lay on a small table beside the bed. While he was wondering why he had received such accommodations, even though he was prisoner, the same woman who had dragged him aboard the ship entered the room, bearing a plate laden with exotic food. Behind her came two other men; one was stocky and strongly built with ruddy skin and thick black hair, while the other was lanky, tall, possessed fair skin and a bush of flaxen hair. They were perfect opposites of each other, which was only accented by the fact that they had opposite shades of blue in their eyes. The stocky one had dark, while the lanky one had light.

"Finally, yer awake," the burly man barked impatiently. "Certainly took ye long enough. Was startn' to get worried that Karthiah here hit ye a 'bit too hard."

"To hurt the one would be the doom of all," Karthiah said mechanically.

"She has visions, and often speaks in riddles," the lanky man explained. "We never know when or where she is going to spout out another vision, and we never could understand her. We originally didn't even want her on this ship, but she always found a way to sneak back on. We finally just gave in and let her ride as a documented crew member on our ship, _The Sundered Bond_. Oh, by the way, I'm Alex, and this disgrace to mankind beside me is Adam. I know it's hard to believe, but we're brothers."

Arthas looked at them skeptically, but said nothing.

"We're about two days out from port, and when we get there ye can meet the one who sent for ye, though we can't say nothin' else 'til we get there," Adam told Arthas. "Now eat, we don't need ye to be starvin' to death after all the trouble we went through to get ye. And by what Karthiah said, you've had it pretty rough lately, floatin' through them frigid waters an' all."

Karthiah handed the food tray to Arthas, then left without another word

"She does that sometimes," Alex stated. "Hardly meets ye, an' then walks away wit'out a second thought or even a word of farewell. When ye feel rested enough, come up to the deck, we got somethin' to show ye."

As the brothers left the room, Arthas imbedded a silver light into the food to check it for poison, and, finding none, began to ravenously devour it. When he had finished every crumb on the plate, he set it aside, got up, strapped on his scimitars, and walked up the stairs to the deck above. He found Adam waiting for him.

"Yer up already? Sure'n yer to be okay?" he asked. After a weary nod from Arthas, he continued, "Alrighty then, suit yerself. Karthiah said ye would be an expert swordsman, and we were wantin' to give that a test. We don't exactly want to show ye something; we want ye to show us how good ye really are. It will be ye and Karthiah, no magic, no aid, just sword against sword. She's waitin' for ye on the upper decks whenever yer ready. Be careful, lad, she's never been bested before, she's put the last thirty years into studying with the blade, and ye might be in fer a beatin'."

A flash of lightning slashed a jagged scar across the swiftly darkening sky, and the first drops of rain began to stain the deck.

"Rain, and a battle on a rocking ship when you are weak and new at sea," Adam grimaced. "Lady Luck seems to have turned away from you for the time being."

"The wind's in my favor," Arthas began. "That's all the luck I need."

When he reached the deck, he found Karthiah standing in the middle of a ring of crew members, all waiting to see this display of skill and talent. Before he could utter a word, Karthiah rushed him, her sword leading, her bola spinning behind her in a rapid circle. Arthas's scimitars leaped to his hands, and he deftly knocked her sword aside and lashed out with the pommel of his other blade. It met only air as Karthiah dodged around it while her bola whipped around her other side. Arthas stabbed straight down with one of his scimitars, jamming it into one of the wide chain links and pinning the bola to the deck. As her weapon was torn from her hand, Karthiah struck out with her foot in an attempt to disarm her opponent of his other blade. Arthas spun away from the strike and pulled a dagger from the folds of his tunic. He locked his sword with Karthiah's, twisted his arm through hers, pinned it behind her back in a painful joint lock, and brought his dagger toward her throat. The back of her head connected solidly with his nose, knocking him backwards and releasing her arm.

Pulling a throwing knife from her bracer, she hurled it towards the staggering Arthas. Dropping his dagger, Arthas caught the knife and rebounded it with well-practiced precision. Only a side step saved Karthiah, and she countered with a sweep kick that sent Arthas to the ground. He whipped his scimitar above him to intercept the downward chop of her sword, and then rolled into a shove that sent her sprawling towards the edge of the ship. Leaping up from his roll to sail over her head, he landed lightly on the railing of the ship, balancing precariously while exchanging cuts and jabs with Karthiah.

Arthas summoned a surge of magic to call his other scimitar back to his awaiting hand, then began a strange style of combat that was more for show than effectiveness. It was a combination of quick pivots supplemented by the near "juggling" of more than two weapons. Two daggers came from the folds of Arthas's clothing to join in the rapidly spinning pattern of his scimitars. After the completion of a swing, Arthas would toss a weapon into the air in order to grab a falling weapon and initiate his next strike. It took nearly all of his dexterity for Arthas to retain his balance on the water-slick railing during his dervish dance, especially when he had to use a limb other than his hands to keep his weapons in the air. To the onlookers, it appeared to be a very graceful, if strange, style of combat, and it drew scattered but constant applause. Karthiah, on the other hand, tried desperately to break Arthas's precarious balance and disrupt his concentration in the slight amount it would take to end the strange combat pattern. She wouldn't have to, because Arthas was beginning to tire.

He intended to end this now, so Arthas went purely on the offensive, dropping his daggers to the ship deck and sending his scimitars in blindingly fast at constantly changing angles, and Karthiah was hard pressed to keep up with the darting blades. To the onlookers, the ring of blade on blade sounded like a single, melodious note, and the swords themselves were blurs of color and motion. Since pure speed didn't appear to be working, Arthas tried a different approach. His attacks came in as flurry of feints and cuts, each one disguised as another so that the real strikes melded in and out of the fake ones. Karthiah was forced to disengage from the melee before she became entrapped in the cage of white that was Arthas's humming blades. When the routine ended, Karthiah charged back in, sword arcing before her. Arthas leaped over her horizontal hack, and then landed by pinning her sword to the railing with his foot. He did this without realizing her strength, and Karthiah used the railing as leverage and launched Arthas into the air. He grabbed a rope that had come loose in the wind and swung back over the center of the deck. Karthiah snatched up a rope of her own and climbed like lightning up the hemp strands. As the two combatants swung about in the wind, they directed blows at the ropes as well as each other. Though the driving rain stung at their faces, the two adversaries refused to give in.

Arthas was the first to fall, and he came crashing down on the wet wooden deck. Karthiah was close to follow, but she fell with the grace of a cat and with her foot leading. When it connected with the back of his head, a flash crossed Arthas's vision, and only instinct allowed him to drop his swords and catch her other foot before it crashed into his chest. He twisted her footing from beneath her and sent her to the ground as well. The momentum of her fall jerked Arthas to his feet, and he drove his advantage home by drawing his last dagger and planting it into the deck a hair's breadth from Karthiah's neck.

Scant seconds after his victory, Arthas collapsed, his energy spent, to the deck, and his breath came in ragged gasps. After several moments of blank silence, cheers erupted from the gathered crew, and men rushed forward through the rain to aid the exhausted warriors. They brought forward water and bread to sate their hunger and thirst, and the two combatants were carried high on a sea of soggy, cheering sailors.


	11. Chapter 10: No Turning Back

Chapter X

No Turning Back

Two days later, _The Sundered Bond_ entered a small cove which hosted a small city. The weather was hot and humid, while swarms of insects buzzed about everyone like dark clouds. Arthas kept an eye on his possessions, for the city was crawling with very obvious pickpockets and scoundrels. He made sure to make eye contact with every one of them and told them with a stern gaze that any attempt to relieve him of his possessions was folly. None questioned that stare, but instead hustled on to find another target. Karthiah, Adam, and Alex guided Arthas through the streets and brought him into a side alley between two large buildings. It appeared as though Karthiah was counting bricks on the wall. When she reached a certain number, she tapped on it in a rhythmic pattern. The brick, along with a small square of the wall, sank back, then shot down, revealing a crawl tunnel large enough to emit a medium humanoid.

"Ladies first," Arthas said, bowing aside and gesturing at the tunnel.

Karthiah crawled in, and then disappeared from sight. She was followed by Arthas, then Adam, and finally Alex. A few yards down the tunnel, Arthas felt the ground drop from beneath him and he slid down a chute slick with rainwater. A light at the bottom grew brighter as he slid downward. When he was launched into a bright room, he came down in a roll that brought him to his feet, swords drawn. He lowered his guard when he saw there was no one there but Karthiah. Soon Adam and Alex were also flung from the tunnel. They were in a bright room in which many exotic plants grew and a fountain gurgled in the center of the north wall. The brightness came from many fist-sized orbs floating around the ceiling. They were constantly in motion, which caused shadows to dance around the walls in a chaotic manner. Hallways branched off in many directions, most likely leading to other chambers where the denizens of this extravagant place lived and worked.

"Is he the one?" a voice boomed from an unknown origin.

"He is," Karthiah answered.

The sound of grinding stone resounded off the walls, and the fountain sank into the ground to reveal a grand stairway to a throne that put the Hall of Justice to shame. The throne itself was marble inlaid with every precious stone Arthas could think of, and some he could not even identify. Spiraling out in intricate patterns from every inlaid gem were strands of white gold. The entire throne seemed to pulse with an inner power and light. As glorious as the throne was, the man sitting on it appeared simple in garb.

"Ishnu'alah," Arthas began as he strode forward. (a/n Ishnu'alah "Good fortune to you" in Thalassian, the archaic language of the elves.

"Arthas Naiöl, do you know why you have been brought before me?" the man on the throne asked.

"No, sir, I do not," Arthas replied.

"You were destined to hold not one, but two artifacts of great power. I am Naigani, and I know you have already heard of one of them, and you sought to assemble it during your journeys in Neverwinter," the man began. "Though I doubt you knew it was you who was destined to wield it."

"The weapon that could close Tiamat's portal in Neverwinter? _I_ was the one destined to have it?" Arthas questioned.

"That you were, but that is not the only wondrous items you were prophesized to possess," Naigani explained. "There is an enchanted sword, one that my men unearthed in the far away Anarauch Desert, one that has power over the very fabric of time. With a small exertion of power, you can rewind time a short ways, briefly freeze time to make amazing escapes, and the potential list is limitless. But be warned, the sword has an intelligence of its own, and it will seek to control your actions and bend you to its will. Be warned that once you take up the blade, it will be bound to you forever, and can never leave your possession. Once you choose to accept this gift, there is no chance to turn back."


	12. Chapter 11: A Journey Begins

(Disclaimer: My ideas belong to me. Ideas that are not mine belong to the person who had the ideas. Simple, but necessary.)

Chapter XI

A Journey Begins

"What would you ask in return for this gift?" Arthas asked. "An item of this power should not be given away lightly, and you surely must want something in return."

"You are accustomed to how bargains such as this work. Yes, there is something I want in return. Though the blade possesses great power, the wielder can still be defeated. Before I let you leave with this artifact in your grasp, I would give you a test. I have an adopted son, one who has become very self-righteous, but remains naïve. I would have you, one who could protect him, get him land so that he does not need to inherit any part of my kingdom, whose infrastructure is so delicate that I believe he would accidentally bring about great losses. I will bind you with a spell, one I call oath-binding, and if you abandon him or do anything that causes him permanent damage, the blade will be recalled and you will not be given a second chance, as the magic will also kill you. I learned a long time ago not to put faith in prophesies.

If you choose to bring any companions, they will be bound not to harm my son on pain of death. The sword's magic can not rewind past incidents in which the oath bond harmed you, and can in no way removed the oath bond, so don't even try. It will only result in pain from the bond. Your objective is simple; I am giving you five months, Arthas…five months in which to help my son acquire an amount of land suitable for a noble. Go now, and may the blessings of…" Naigani was cut off by the echo of hurried footsteps from the chamber behind them.

"Father!" the voice of a man in his mid-twenties shouted from behind them. "Did you know that there are hungry people in the streets above us?"

Naigani raised an eyebrow at Arthas, as if to prove his point, and then told his son, "Thamior, I will attend to the well-being of this man, but for you I have other plans. You will go with this man here, his name is Arthas, and he will guide you on your quest to acquire land."

"I will be accompanied by Karthiah here, that is if she accepts the position," Arthas explained.

"I would be honored," Karthiah responded evenly.

"Well, then, I'll show you to the stables, where my destrier and gear await," Thamior managed to stammer, obviously surprised that he would be leaving so soon, and with complete strangers.

Naigani handed Arthas the sword, placed his magical bindings on Arthas and Karthiah, then bade them farewell and good luck on their journey. Arthas strapped the new blade to his back, leaving his scimitars on his belt

"Are you all right?" Naigani began. "You don't look well."

"I have a terrible headache," Arthas replied wearily.

"You might miss your home. From what Karthiah said, you've been away from it for quite some time," Naigani said.

Listening to a voice in the back of his mind, Arthas bashed the pommel of his blade on the back of Naigani's head and shot back, "Aw, you miss your home too?"

Naigani gave Arthas a vicious glare, one that warned him he was still in Naigani's palace, and he should show more respect.

In the stables, Arthas and Karthiah saw that the prince's steed was a great white horse, which appeared to be more effective for show than riding.

_Might as well paint "I'm rich, rob me!" across its side._

It was the same voice that had earlier provoked him against Naigani. It took Arthas a moment to realize that it was the sword that had spoken, though it became obvious that he was the only one who could hear it because Karthiah and Thamior showed no reaction to it.

_Actually, the sign would be safer. Most bandits can't read._

"Come, let us begin our quest," Thamior said, as he mounted the white horse. "To save the less fortunate from persecution, to free the slaves, and to give the people new hope! Onward!" With that, Thamior used his knees to surge his horse into a full gallop. Karthiah and Arthas leapt lightly onto a chestnut mare and a black stallion, respectively, and chased after their charge.

_Idiot, he won't last a minute if he keeps running off, especially if he expects to help every man in the world._

"Hush," Arthas mentally commanded. "We don't need a constant reminder of the possibility of failure. To fail means to die."

_Only stating the obvious, not trying to discourage you._

"Trying, but failing," Arthas thought. "And what should I call you?"

_My name is one you could never dream of pronouncing, but you can call me by my nickname, Dieubanai._

"And what in the Father's name is that supposed to mean?" Arthas thought irritably.

_God's Bane._

As Thamior's uncontrolled gallop petered down to a steady canter, Arthas and Karthiah pulled up beside him.

"So where are we headed, sir?" Arthas asked Thamior.

"Why, to Hylar, of course. It is a land filled with poverty, and it is slave territory. I believe we should begin The Father's quest there," Thamior answered as though it was obvious.

"I thought our goal was to get you landed…"Arthas began.

"Land, bah, what is land and a title compared to the well being of the persecuted?" Thamior interrupted. "Now I would appreciate it if you stopped questioning my authority, Arthas."

Arthas remained silent, and the trio rode onward for the rest of the day. At dusk, Thamior called for a halt in the sheltered clearing, and found to his dismay that his entire body was sore from a full day's ride.

"Karthiah, unload the horses, Arthas, you can start on dinner, and I will get camp ready." Thamior commanded.

_If you are to cook and Karthiah will unpack the horses, what does that leave for him to do?_

Shrugging, Arthas began pulling out the rations, and began preparing the provisions that would spoil the fastest. As Karthiah unloaded packs, she was surprised to find that the horses were laden with enough supplies to keep nearly a dozen men happy for weeks. Thamior set off into the woods with an ax, and Arthas assumed he was going to get firewood. Thamior did return with firewood, but then he ventured back into the forest again, claiming he needed to get camp ready, and that he had been trained on how to properly construct a camp.

_Good God, prince silk-sheets is going to teach us how to sleep outside._

The sound of blade thunking into wood was heard for an hour, and in that time the horses had been unloaded, dinner had been cooked, and Arthas and Karthiah had been sparring in a cleared spot of camp. Thamior returned, his arms laden with three-dozen wooden stakes.

"What are those for?" Arthas asked when he saw the prince's massive load.

"For camp, of course, we want to safe tonight, don't we?" Thamior responded matter-of-factly. He set them down in a pile, then sat down to a less-than-hot meal

_Camp? What could he possibly... oh dear God. His lessons, his history lessons, his "how to be a war general" lessons! By the Father's crown, he's building a damned fortress!_

Images of erecting a fortress with three people, the energy it would take, and the days it would waste flooded into Arthas's head, though whether they stemmed from the sword or from a persistent oath-bond, Arthas could not say. Whatever their origin, Arthas could not stand the ridiculous image, and he burst out laughing.

"Arthas, what are you doing? What are you laughing about?" Thamior asked.

_We're laughing at you, you idiotic simpleton._

Having regained his composure, Arthas inquired, "Sire, might I request that we not complete the entire fort? I think we are fine as we are."

"What? And leave ourselves open to attack in the middle of the night?" Thamior replied.

"Sir, what good are defenses if we are too weak to stand?" Arthas asked.

"I guess, but it is still wrong for you to question my better judgment. I will take the first watch, for I am hardly tired at all," Thamior responded.

_I will awaken you if trouble nears, I don't trust the buffoon._

Arthas and Karthiah retreated to their respective sides of camp, lay upon their mats, and went to sleep.

That night, Dieubanai somehow infiltrated Arthas's dream and began to speak to him.

_Your memories of you past are not complete, certain incidents have been erased. They must be restored if you are to fulfill you destiny._


	13. Chapter 12: Revelations

(a/n Within this chapter, guards get angry at a prisoner who has murdered thousands, and they use some coarse language. Specifically "bastard" and "damn".)

Chapter XII

Revelations

_**December 1391**_

Arthas felt himself drifting through a void, ending when his back met cool stone. He knew where he was, recognized it by the smell of alcohol and burning incense. He was in a cell beneath a cathedral, and he had just awakened after being under the influence of dart-inflicted neuro-toxin. He resisted the urge to lift his head and kept his breathing slow and methodical, maintaining the illusion that he remained asleep. Arthas knew what was going to happen, but could do nothing, was bound to continue exactly as things had played out when this actually happened those many years ago.

"Can't believe he killed a priest," a guard said from outside the bars.

"Bastard has killed a lot more than one, from what I hear," came his partner's reply. "Even heard that he took out some of the higher ranked clergymen, killed tens of thousands of the pope's soldiers and mages, stole a good portion of the church's wealth, and burned down several monasteries and cathedrals."

"I dearly hope that there's a special place in the Father's hell waiting for him."

The butt of a ranseur shot towards Arthas's head, though it came exceptionally slow for his heightened senses. He rolled to the side, grabbed the ranseur, and pulled in the same fluid motion, forcing the guard to surrender the weapon before the blade came through his hands.

"Damn, I'll get Tobin, you make sure he doesn't get out," one guard said hastily as he scrambled towards the door.

Arthas heard faint snatches of the conversation that took place on the other side of the door, "Malbanai…awake…armed…" followed by a curse and a scramble for weapons. As two guards rushed back through the door, the crossbow wielding one obviously Tobin, Arthas rose into a defensive stance and balanced the ranseur in a position where it could easily snap in any direction.

"I've heard you're fast, Malbanai," Tobin said as he attached the repeating cartridge and leveled his crossbow. "Let's see if you can drop the ranseur faster than I can pull this trigger."

With a quick survey of the situation, Arthas found himself obviously at a disadvantage; he could catch or deflect one bolt, maybe even two or three, but not the dozen bolts the rapid-fire cartridge would fire in a matter of seconds. Arthas dropped the ranseur with a clatter to the ground, and toed it with his foot towards the bars. Tobin kept the crossbow trained on Arthas's chest as another guard clumsily recovered the ranseur. Arthas kept a straight face, valiantly resisting the many openings in which he could recover the weapon or kill the guard.

"What are my charges?" Arthas questioned his captor.

"I'll let his grace read those for ye, I'm just here to keep you in line," Tobin replied evenly as an elderly halfling clad in fine garb entered the room.

"Ah, Malbanai, how fare you this joyous day?" the halfling questioned sarcastically.

"Cardinal Mal'Ganis, there is no need to be snide," Arthas responded.

"Your crimes against the church include thirty-four-thousand nine-hundred and fifty-seven murders, eighty-nine acts of grand-theft, seventeen arsons, and three-hundred-twenty-one various misdemeanors," Mal'Ganis rattled off.

To Arthas the murders seemed low and the acts of theft high, but the rest seemed to fairly accurate.

"The punishment for a single one of those crimes, minus the misdemeanors, is death," Mal'Ganis continued. "But I do believe in redemption, in second chances. Not only that, but I believe that you have a greater purpose than is apparent at this time, and it would be selfish of me to rob Fate of her tool before she is done building. So here are my terms: you will spend the remainder of my lifetime indebted to me, serving as an aid to the church. You will take on a new identity, Malbanai will be declared executed, and you will be given a clean slate. You will be acquitted of all crimes, and inherit my house, The Silver Flame, and all the nobility that comes with it. Have we reached a concurrence?"

"Do I have a choice?" Arthas asked.

"Not really, but I enjoy making it seem that way," Mal'Ganis replied with all seriousness.

"Then I suppose I accept," Arthas stated.

"Good, now let's settle on a new name for you. Is Malbanai your birth name?" Mal'Ganis asked.

"Yes," Arthas began sarcastically. "You know, I was actually named after my grandmother, who was named the archaic form of 'evil's bane' because of how valiantly she purged sweets from the diets of small growing children."

"Then what was your name? What did your parents call you?" Mal'Ganis returned evenly.

After some consideration, Arthas responded, "I've taken many names throughout my life, but I'm not sure of my birth name. I never met my father, but my mother called me 'Boy', mostly; sometimes 'Stupid' or 'Rat'."

Mal'Ganis regarded Arthas skeptically, "You mother called you those things?"

"We don't all grow up on hugs, kisses, and silk, your Grace," Arthas said evenly.

"Very well then, we will call you 'Arthas'" Mal'Ganis began. "It is from our archaic language, meaning 'without'. You, after all, will be without much of your former life to worry about, so I believe it suits you."

"Fine, Arthas it is," Arthas replied.

"Any last words before Malbanai is 'executed'?" Mal'Ganis asked.

"Selama ashal'anore, ana'duna thera" Arthas swore. (a/n Selama ashal'anore, ana'duna thera "There will be justice for our people, revenge will be ours" in Thalassian, the archaic language of the elves)

"Cute. Your first task within my service will be to serve as my bodyguard on the procession announcing the 'death' of Malbanai," Mal'Ganis explained. "You will be given whatever weapons and armor you think you need. Tobin will provide them."

Mal' Ganis pushed through the bars a set of black pants, long-sleeved tunic, and cloak; a pair of black leather gloves and boots, and a black tabard decorated with a silver sword in a halo of silver flame.

After he was dressed and out of the cell, Arthas moved past Mal'Ganis to speak to Tobin directly, "I require no armor, but would prefer two scimitars and as many well-balanced daggers you can spare."

Mal'Ganis stepped up behind Arthas after Tobin had left and told him, "Here are your old daggers, they are unadorned, so I doubt anyone would know they were…"

"I already have them, your Grace," Arthas admitted, producing the pilfered daggers from the folds of his new clothing.

Attempting to refrain from further angering the cardinal, Arthas hastily returned to him the bulging purse, signet ring, and unaddressed letter Arthas's sleight-of-hand had acquired from the cardinal. The cardinal's face began to flash through various stages of red and purple, finally settling on a deep burgundy.

"It's not too late to execute you," Mal' Ganis muttered furiously.

"Actually, your Grace, I believe it is," Arthas responded as Tobin returned with two scimitars and over a dozen daggers.

Arthas knew he could hear the cardinal swear fervently.

As the vision drifted away, the voice of Dieubanai entered Arthas's mind.

_You see? You were once a legend, everyone knew of you, but none truly knew you. Feared and hated, your name inspired terror in the pathetic populace. Malbanai was a curse, unexplainable crimes were thought to be your doing. And then this man came, and he broke you. This pompous old __**halfling**__ tamed the legendary Malbanai._

"I robbed them of money they did not earn; the money they stole by telling the poor that a donation would guarantee them a place in the Father's divine realm. I killed only hypocritical leaders who exploited the people, and burned the buildings that housed deceit and lies; I was only feared by those who didn't know my reasons."

_You cared nothing for the laws of men or nature, defying both with little trouble. You were a terror-inspiring legend once, what happened to you?_

"I found the realization that no matter how much I tried, I could never rid society of the corruption that has afflicted it since the beginning of time."

_Respect._

"Terror."

_Power._

"Evil."

_Freedom._

"Criminal."

_Legacy._

"Reign of darkness."

_I see now why you failed. You were weak._


	14. Chapter 13: Lessons

(Disclaimer: To warn those who dislike coarse language, the word "piss" is used in this chapter.)

Chapter XIII

Lessons

_**Year 1400**_

As expected, Thamior fell asleep on watch duty. After a lengthy apology, Thamior offered to teach Arthas and Karthiah some of what he knew.

_And what could he possibly teach us? How to be an unfathomable idiot? How to build a fort for a one night stay with three people? How to overburden poor horses? How to…_

"Arthas? Are you even listening to me?" Thamior accused. "I was trying to tell you the importance of etiquette and obeying one's superior, but apparently first I'll have to teach you how to listen."

"With all due respect, Thamior, I think it is about time we picked up camp and left. We can eat cold rations on the way to Naminie. I don't want to get caught in the storm that's brewing," Arthas said urgently.

"Well, I was looking forward to a cooked meal, but I agree that we shouldn't be out in the rain. Arthas, reload the gear, Karthiah, scrounge up some rations we can eat while riding, and I'll wipe away the signs we were here so that bandits can't track us. Let's get moving!" Thamior commanded.

_Finally, he has a good idea._

When he retied the gear, Arthas made sure to loosen the knots securing some of the more cumbersome and unnecessary gear, things like the large spade Thamior had insisted upon bringing.

When the trio had mounted up and begun the long ride, Arthas was surprised to see that Thamior had actually done a decent job erasing their camp. He found the answer when he saw Thamior reading from a book that appeared to be a journal of a war general.

_Father's mercy, I bet he can't even piss without seeing how Sir Shiny Armor did it._

When the first drops began to come down, fifteen miles into the day's trek, the town was in sight and Thamior suddenly called for a halt.

"The spade!" he shouted. "The spade is missing!"

_For the last ten miles at least, you dolt._

Thamior dismounted and checked the ties that held the packs in place.

"Arthas!" he barked over the thunder and rain that had begun to pour down. "These knots are barely tied, what were you thinking? We're lucky we didn't lose everything."

_Luck is a point of view._

"I am sorry, Thamior. The knots must have loosened while we rode," Arthas replied innocently.

"Well next time you'll just have to be more careful, and be sure to check the ties every time we stop," Thamior stated. "For now there is only one thing to do."

_Push on to Naminie before the rain comes down any harder?_

"You'll just have to go back and retrieve the spade. Karthiah and I will wait for you in Naminie," Thamior commanded.

_What? Why don't you go back ten miles or more in the rain to retrieve a heavy, useless tool worth two copper pieces? Or did you even know a copper piece existed as currency?_

"It isn't a very expensive piece of equipment, Thamior, couldn't we just purchase another in Naminie?" Arthas asked.

By now the rain was so thick you could barely see two yards in front of your nose, and Arthas was ready to get inside.

"There you go, questioning my authority again, and this is to teach you a lesson that you should be more careful," Thamior replied, barely heard over growing storm.

"I am sorry I that we lost the spade, but is it really necessary for me to go all the way back in the rain to retrieve it?" Arthas bellowed over the torrential downpour.

"Yes, I believe it is necessary for you to go back, it would teach you a lesson," Thamior began as he strode next to Arthas's horse so he could be heard easier. "I'm sorry you aren't used to having to work, you probably were once a pampered noble, but now you actually have to do something useful. Now go and retrieve the spade, Karthiah and I will wait in Naminie. That was not a suggestion, it was an order!"

Not able to restrain himself any longer, Arthas's foot shot out and connected solidly with Thamior's face. As the prince tumbled into the grime of the road, the oath bond that had formerly been a constant churning in his chest had suddenly amplified to a gut-wrenching pain. Arthas doubled over and collapsed from his horse into the soaked grass. He grit his teeth to keep from screaming and alerting Thamior to the oath-bond's work.

"What in the Father's name was that for?" Thamior roared as he scrambled to his feet. "I was only alerting you to the fact that you were disrespecting my authority, and that disrespect was only amplified when you struck me! Did you know that that is a punishable crime? If I didn't believe in redemption and second chances, I would report you!"

He clumsily mounted his drenched horse and bellowed over the torrent of water, "Come back with the spade, we will meet you in Naminie!"

He spurred his mount forward, motioning for Karthiah to follow suit. As the two horses thundered away, Arthas slowly rose, expecting the oath-bond to redouble at any time. It did not, and Arthas leaped to the back of his horse and followed them towards Naminie.

"I'll just buy a new spade when we get there, I'm not riding back through this storm," Arthas muttered to himself.

_Have you even thought about how to get him land?_

"The easiest way seems to be that I just buy him some, though I'm not sure how to get all that money," Arthas thought.

_Oh, I have some ideas. You hold in your hand a blade that can rewind time. Imagine the possibilities of gambling, when you can see the results, rewind time, and bet on the winning chance._

"You mean cheat," Arthas replied sternly.

_Why, of course. If it means you are free from Naigani's bond and you can wander the world with me on your belt, free of that ridiculous galley-clod, then why does cheating matter? Remember what Naigani said? The possibilities are limitless._


	15. Chapter 14: New Life

Chapter XIV

New Life

_**July 1388**_

He was walking down the main street of Luskan, returning to the lodging that belonged to his alias named Roland, when he heard a commotion from the church square ahead. Rushing forward to see if there was anything he could do, Arthas saw two guards leading away a prisoner who had apparently tried to infiltrate the chapel. Craning his neck to see over the crowd, Arthas saw that the prisoner was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Auburn hair flowed several inches past her shoulders, and copper eyes shone fiercely from her alabaster face. Her elven heritage could easily be seen in the natural grace of walk. She had the air of one that could take care of herself, but still had compassion when need be. There was also something else about her, something he couldn't explain. He felt connected to her, as though something were meant to be.

"Sirs!" Arthas called over the crowd that now parted to allow him passage. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake. I sent this woman to retrieve a tome of mine; I had accidentally left in on the chapel steps where I do my work and had no time to reclaim it myself."

It was a blatant lie, but under the current alias of Roland, Arthas could say that the sky was purple and folk might actually have to look up before they realized he was lying. This was one of his more honest guises, a historical and religious scholar who spent a good portion of his time traveling, usually chasing down a relic or trying to locate a tomb. That was how he could enter other aliases but still maintain Roland as a viable option. The different personas allowed Arthas to step into various roles, allowing him to see the many aspects of the world through the eyes of those who experience them. It allowed him to treat everyone with the respect they deserved, no more or less. The only roles he had not yet been able to step into were the public officials because of how often they were needed, monarchs for obvious reasons, and clergymen because he had never been able to call on favors from deities.

"Think he's lying?" the smaller of the guards asked his companion.

"Roland, lie? I doubt it," the burly one responded. "He has the cleanest record of all, bar none. He makes the pope look like an internationally wanted criminal. Let her go."

Maintaining the scam, the girl strode calmly to Arthas and followed him when Arthas returned back up the street. When they passed an alley three blocks down the road, she nonchalantly gestured for him to enter.

"I don't take charity," she stated firmly but quietly when they were alone. "Everything has a reason, everyone has motive for an action. What's yours?"

"My motive is going to stay mine. But what was _your_ motive for breaking into the private chapel?" Arthas responded.

"I was relieving them of possessions that they did not earn," she began. "There are people starving in this city, while the religious leaders sit on cushioned chairs, being fed exotic foods by poorly treated servants."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Arthas returned.

"Then follow me, and make sure you refer to me as Atris, we don't want to arouse suspicion by calling me by the wrong name," Atris said as she turned and strode confidently back towards the church, Arthas right behind her.

"Still need to retrieve my tome," Arthas explained to the guards, who saluted him as Arthas and Atris passed.

The lower, public levels of the church were of average condition: nothing shoddy or broken, but nothing expensive either. But after climbing the stairs and disabling the locked chamber with a tendril of silver light, Arthas gazed in awe and fury at the rich furnishings. Silver, gold, and platinum were the only metals used here, with hand-carved mahogany furniture and silk draperies. The spacious room was crowned with a platinum chandelier hosting dozens of diamonds on platinum chains. Fury and passion welled up from inside Arthas, feelings he wasn't experiencing for the last time.

He knelt before Atris, brought his eyes to hers, and solemnly swore in archaic Thalassian, "Anar'alah belore tor ilisar'thera'nal, selama ashal'anore, ana'duna thera."(a/n means: By the light of the sun may our enemies beware, there will be justice for our people, revenge will be ours.)

_Your life was not the same after that. You mercilessly assassinated the clergy of Luskan, stole the riches and gave them to the peasants, and burned down the church that very night. You found that Atris was not only beautiful, but exceptionally kind-hearted, perceptive, and intelligent. You infused a part of your soul into the Tear of Nahdril, binding it to Atris and greatly enhancing the range in which you could perceive her. You told yourself that you would marry her once you had purged the church. You believed in true love, and that you had found it. Another sign of weakness. Now return to as normal a life as one such as you can have, but know that I am not done with you yet. _


	16. Chapter 15: Gully Rat

Chapter XV

Gully Rat

When Arthas reached Naminie, the inn at which Karthiah and Thamior were staying was easy to find, for the bellows of an infuriated prince even carried over the rage of the storm.

"Get away from him!" Thamior roared.

Arthas rounded the bend to see a very large man backed up against a wall, Thamior's sword tip at this throat, and Karthiah crouched over a fallen boy who couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Arthas! This man was beating that poor stable boy!" Thamior shouted.

"That worthless slime wasn't movin' fast enough, I was speedin' 'im along!" the man replied. "Besides, he's me slave and I can do what I want wit' 'im."

"That boy has a life, and a name! Value them both, or contend with me!" Thamior bellowed before dropping the man to the wet cobblestones.

He strode over to the stupefied boy and helped him to his feet.

"Thank ye sir, I owe ye," he managed to stammer.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out several stocks of a plant.

"Squeeze the juice out an' rub it on yer horses, it'll keep the flies away. It's the least I can do fer ye," he said.

Thamior handed the stocks to Arthas, then turned back to the master.

"How much would it cost to purchase this boy from you?" Thamior asked.

"Five silver," the man replied after some consideration.

_A drowned gully rat like that is hardly worth one copper, there's no way even this simpleton will accept that price._

"Done," Thamior responded, as he reached into his purse and pulled out the asked amount.

_Well, I guess even I can be wrong from time to time._

"Now, what is your name?" Thamior directed this question at the boy.

"Name's Toby, sir," was the reply.

"Well, Toby, here's what I'll do. I'll keep you well clothed, fed, clean, and allow you to ride the pack horse. All I ask in return is that you remain loyal to myself and my companions, and help care for our belongings. When you are old enough to live on your own, I will release you from service if that is your wish," Thamior told Toby.

"Thank ye! Of course I will, and I'll keep ye in me prayers," Toby hastily responded.

_Great, another burden, one more bloke to protect. At least tonight should prove to be a profitable night of gambling, then you can buy this simpleton his land and we can be on our way._

"Arthas! There you go again, completely ignoring me! I've called for you to come inside at least half a dozen times by now. You'll be soaked to the bone if you stay out much longer. And where is that spade?"

_He's still rambling on about the spade?_

"It must have fallen off my horse again as I rode into town, I'll just be a minute," Arthas called back.

Spinning his mount around, Arthas headed to a merchant who had just finished packing his wares and was about to head in for the night.

"Sir, can I just have a spade?" Arthas shouted, "I'll pay you double its price for the inconvenience!"

The man hurriedly dug about in a long crate and produced the spade, then handed it to Arthas as a silver piece was dumped into his hand. The silver was even more than double the price of the spade, and the merchant readily accepted it.

After leaving his horse with the stable hand and darting into the shelter of the inn, Arthas saw Thamior and Karthiah sitting down to an inn meal. Arthas quickly surveyed the room, taking in all the details just in case Thamior attracted some unwanted attention. A catwalk spanned across the entire center of the ceiling, and a single man patrolled back and forth, a longbow in his hand, a quiver on his back, and a sword at his belt. Noticing Arthas's look, the archer saluted with a leather gloved hand before resuming his monotonous walk. A massive crossbow hung behind the bar, within easy reach of the innkeeper. He was a large, dirty man, and his clothes looked as though they hadn't been properly cleaned in a month. Other than that, the inn appeared to have no other guards, though common practice was to have always changing shifts of guards appearing to be patrons to throw off potential troublemakers.

Content that Thamior would be safe, Arthas asked Thamior for a key into his room and retired to his bed to get some much needed rest to prepare for a long night of gambling.


	17. Chapter 16: Complications

Chapter XVI

Complications

_**March 1, 1389**_

"Aren't you having fun?" Atris asked as she approached Arthas where he stood at the edge of the hall.

The massive room was filled with finely-dressed nobles, most of them standing in small clumps while sipping glasses of wine. The main dance had just ended and the pre-party mobs had started to reform.

"Well, this is, um…" Arthas trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Your idea of hell?" Atris interjected.

"Kind of, though in hell you usually know some of the people," Arthas replied.

"Well, we know each other. And we know him," Atris said, gesturing at the robed man now stepping onto the dais at the head of the room. "Bishop Ralthairon. He's the reason we're here."

"We need to get to the balcony over his head, the area around the dais is too congested for us to get in or out of there in any sort of efficient manner," Arthas commented while surveying the room yet again.

"Right. This way, then," Atris said as she began to tow Arthas towards a side door.

After walking quickly down a narrow hallway, the two came to a T-intersection, the passage on their left leading to their destination. In front of the staircase door, however, stood a very large guard dressed in a scale-mail tunic with a cutlass strapped to his hip.

"We don't have time for this," Arthas muttered.

"I could distract him, keep him talking while you slip by," Atris suggested.

"You've had too much wine," Arthas stated.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Atris inquired in an offended tone.

"You're being stupid. I'm that guy and the most beautiful girl I've ever seen is making eyes at me? It's either my bachelor party or a scam."

"What did you just call me?" Atris asked, more surprised than offended.

"Sorry. You're not stupid," Arthas returned.

"No, after that," Atris pushed.

"I think I like the idea of a sudden burst of violence more," Arthas said, hurriedly trying to change the subject.

"Hold on a second. I might have an idea that's a little more subtle," Atris said suspiciously as she sauntered up to the guard. "Hey! I bet you like bribes, right?"

"Of course I do," the guard replied, shocked at the question.

"Well, my friend and I really want to get a better seat on the balcony behind you," Atris continued, holding up a handful of silver coins.

"Yeah, well, that isn't so much a bribe as a tip, and since I'm not bringing you drinks, there's really no way…" the guard trailed off as Arthas's fist connected solidly with the guard's jaw.

"Okay, that's how we do it from now on," Arthas stated as he straightened his tunic.

Grabbing the door handle, Arthas jerked the door open then rapidly slammed it close on the face of the guard listening through the keyhole.

"That works too," Arthas continued, stepping over the unconscious guard on his way up the stairs.

The narrow staircase lasted for several dozen steps before opening up onto a small balcony over the Ralthairon's head. As Arthas prepared to vault the railing and kill Ralthairon, Atris grabbed his arm.

"What if he's an illusion, like that other Bishop a few months ago? You'd be dropping twenty feet onto solid marble," Atris said in a hurried hush.

"We pray that he's not," Arthas returned, smiling encouragingly. "Jump down if guards pour out of those doors, I could use some backup."

"I will, don't worry," Atris reassured

"Wish me luck. I'm either going to kill him, or you're about to see something kinda funny," Arthas said as he nimbly launched himself over the railing.

Arthas landed directly on Ralthairon, snapping the bishop's neck as the two rolled down the dais steps. Arthas leapt lightly to his feet as guards began to stream out of every door around the dais. Many of the nobles shed their rich garb to reveal chain armor and a baselard. Atris landed behind Arthas as the guards formed a complete circle around them.

"Always complications, aren't there?" Atris asked wearily.

"It was a planned ambush," Arthas muttered hastily to Atris.

"Really? Never would've guessed," Atris replied sarcastically.

"You take the fifty on the right, I'll take the fifty on the left," Arthas managed to say in a calm voice.

Going purely on the offensive, Arthas entered the mob in a series of rapid spins, his scimitars lashing out at every conceivable angle in such a flurry that the guards had no way to utilize any offensive strategy of their own.

Atris drew the collapsible iron pole from its sheath on her back and entered an offensive routine of her own. It, too, was very fast attack pattern, but it utilized the extended reach of the polearm rather than sheer speed on her feet. Atris twirled the staff around her body in a blur, her stance only changing when a new formation of guards surrounded her.

Arthas was impressed; surprised at how fast Atris had mastered the fighting style he had shown her. The noises of battle seemed to grow softer, the clatter of metal on metal seemed to fade away, and there was only the silent grace of their dance. But a muttered chant caught Arthas's attention, one that seemed to be steadily growing faster and louder. No one appeared to be casting a spell, but wizards had the irksome habit of being invisible until their first spell is cast. He glanced about for something that was out of place, some clue as to the wizard's location. Then he saw it; the shadow that shouldn't be there, the wizard must be floating over their heads. The other strange thing was that all the tiny shards of metal that always seem to appear during skirmishes were all rising towards the place where the wizard was likely floating. They also appeared to be heating up at an accelerated rate.

Not wasting anymore time, Arthas ended his offensive spins by ducking low to the ground and spinning his leg around 360 degrees and knocking over the guards around him. He ran up one of the falling guards, pushed himself off, and landed lightly on the balcony railing. As the crescendo of the wizard's spell rang out through the entire ballroom, Arthas leaped towards the center of the heating metal, making sure to position himself between it and Atris.

As the wizard's spell stopped, everything seemed to be going in slow motion for Arthas. He saw the metal shards spiral up what appeared to be the wizard's upraised arm, do a full circle around his hand, then dive towards Atris. Arthas twirled his scimitars around his wrists, the wide circles formed by the blades deflecting all but a few of the superheated metal shards. The few that he missed buried themselves in Arthas's skin, searing him with acute pain.

But the wizard was not done yet, as the now visible man spiraled higher into the room and unleashed a massive orb of solid force, blasting Arthas out of the way and into the far wall. Arthas could feel the bruises forming on his back as he fell thirty feet to the floor, but contact with the marble sent a flash across his vision and trickle of blood to come from his nose and mouth.

Arthas rose slowly to his feet, the room still moving at its sluggish pace. He met the wizard's eyes and smiled in such a way that it sent a chill down the wizard's spine. Arthas raised both his hands above his head, slammed them together, then slowly pulled them apart, tearing a rift in the ceiling with the magic he channeled. He raised his right arm and made a harsh gesture towards the wizard, who looked up at the hole in the ceiling just in time to see a colossal bolt of lightning shooting down towards him. All the combatants in the center of the ballroom stopped to shield their eyes as a blinding aura of light radiated from the crackling wizard. When the light cleared there was nothing left of the wizard, over half the guards who entered the room now lay dead or dying, and the two "troublemakers" were on the road towards Waterdeep.


	18. Chapter 17: Promises

Chapter XVII

Promises

_**Year 1400**_

Arthas awoke in the early hours of the morning from terribly real dreams of his beloved Neverwinter being consumed by Tiamat and her demonic spawn. They were too real to be mere dreams, and he knew he had to return home soon. He rolled over to see Thamior asleep in his own bed across the room. Karthiah of course had her own separate room, but she would not mind what Arthas did, so it would not matter if she was still up and saw him at his work. Arthas rose quietly, crept silently across the creaking planks, and opened the squeaky door with the silence of night. The common room was filled with many youths, most of them engaged in a heated card game. Others were throwing knives at a cork board with a bull's-eye painted on it. Arthas sat down at a table near the corner, where only a single other patron sat.

"You interested in a casual bet?" Arthas asked the man.

"What'd ye have in mind?" the man replied.

"Something that is entirely luck, such as this," Arthas began, pulling two pieces of fruit left over from lunch out of one of his belt pouches and began to casually roll them through his hand. "We bet on which one will attract a fly first, they were all over me at lunch, so we shouldn't have to wait long."

_Good, very casual, it helps that one of those cubes has been swabbed with the fly repellent meant for horses. Hopefully it will still work on the fruit. But I hope at one point you use my power tonight, I haven't been activated for a millennia._

"Alright, I'm feeling lucky today, I'll bet one silver it lands on the second cube you pulled out," the man responded.

"Sure," Arthas said, finding it easy enough to leave the mentioned cube repellant side up.

After a minute or two, a fly buzzed over to their table, circled twice, and landed on the first cube Arthas had pulled out of his pocket.

"Gah, guess I'm not as lucky as I thought," the stranger said as he flipped his coin onto the table. "Perhaps you would be interested in the same bet? New cubes, but I still want the fly to land on the second one you put out."

"Alright," Arthas replied, making sure that the second cube again had the repellant side up

It hardly even took a minute this time, but a fly came and landed on the first cube to the disappointment of Arthas's opponent in gambling. They tried this bet nearly half a dozen more times, and every time the victory went to Arthas.

"Lady luck has turned her face your way tonight, my friend," the stranger began as he placed his owed coins on the table and rose to his feet. "Perhaps another night we will try this again and I will pray she has turned her face from you to me."

With a sweeping bow, the stranger left the tavern, leaving Arthas to find a new adversary. A trio of merchants engaged in a dice game looked promising. They appeared to be shaking a set of dice in a cup, concealing his results from the others involved, and tried to guess the combined value of everyone's dice. The closest to the count received the combined total of all the bets from each participant. As one of the merchants left the table, Arthas didn't miss his chance.

"I'll join," he called as he strode across the room.

_Finally, I get to see some use._

A black haired, lanky man nodded and waved him into the empty seat, introducing himself as Chris, and his bald, strongly built companion as Daniel. The three cups were shaken, and the three bets were called. The three continued this game for two hours, approximately even piles accumulating before each of them. But Arthas was getting impatient, and intended to end it now.

"43," Chris said, pushing forward four silver pieces.

"52," Daniel countered, giving his gamble of six silver.

"47," Arthas put in, with five silver to back his claim.

The dice were revealed, counted, and the sum came to fifty. As Daniel scooped in his winnings, Arthas willed Dieubanai to rewind the time to the start of the round. A flash crossed his vision, and he felt a small part of his energy drain away.

"43," Chris said, pushing forward four silver pieces.

"52," Daniel countered, giving his gamble of six silver.

"50," Arthas put in, with all one-hundred and forty-eight of the prince's silver pieces to back his claim, knowing very well the results and his absolute chance of success.

The dice were revealed, counted, and the sum came to fifty. The two merchants slumped back in their chairs, for they had never lost that much money on a single gamble before. As they hesitantly pulled the required amounts from their suddenly lighter bags, Arthas surveyed the room to see if anyone suspected his trick. Satisfied that none were the wiser, Arthas accepted his winnings, bade the merchants good night, and returned to his room. He found Thamior at the window, gazing out at the star-blanketed night sky.

"My prince," Arthas began. "My job in this adventure was to get you landed, and in that I have succeeded."

He tossed the sack filled with well over five-hundred silver to the baffled prince, who stumbled and nearly fell when the immense weight entered his unsuspecting grip. Before Thamior could open his mouth to reply, Arthas also handed him a piece of parchment with directions written on it.

"This will take you to a prosperous land owner, you can purchase your land from him. There's enough in there to buy land _and_ begin wages for your subordinates. Karthiah can protect you until you get the land and proper body guards. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a dark goddess to stop," Arthas said as he spun on his heel, grabbed his gear that he had never even bothered to unpack, and strode swiftly from the room.

_Finally we are free of the presence of imbeciles and fools._

He didn't wake Karthiah before he left, for he was not staying in the region. He had honored his promise to Naigani, and it had allowed him to obtain a great weapon with which to combat Tiamat. Now he had to honor his promise to Aribeth, so he was returning to Neverwinter where he planned to track down Gorion, retrieve the second piece of the artifact he had been charged with retrieving, and end the threat of Tiamat's spawn to the people and city he loved. He leaped upon his black stallion, which he had named Midnight, and galloped west towards Waterdeep.

Nearly twenty miles out of Naminie, Arthas finally stopped for the remainder of the night. Dieubanai honored its word and re-entered Arthas's dreams.

_Whether you like it or not, I'm not done with you._


	19. Chapter 18: Destiny

Chapter XVIII

Destiny

_**March 1389**_

Liam rode on the back of his black stallion, Elizabeth riding behind him and holding onto Liam for support. The trees trailed past them at a moderate yet determined pace, the occasional chattering animal darting past them from one mass of tangled underbrush to another.

"Waterdeep is still two days out," Liam told Elizabeth. "And dusk is starting to settle. I recommend we stop for the night."

"It's your horse," Elizabeth returned, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Ignoring her tone for now, Liam turned and slowed his mount, guiding it to the base of a rocky bluff. As they prepared their camp, Liam noticed that Elizabeth's tone hadn't been a passing thing, as she continued to exhibit signs of frustration.

"Are you alright?" Liam questioned, putting down the packs and approaching Elizabeth slowly.

"Fine," she retorted, continuing to try light a fire with flint and steel.

Liam waved his hand and muttered, "Soleno", causing the entire fire ring to be engulfed in a silver flame.

"Can we talk?" Liam asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"What would we talk about?" Elizabeth said as rose and started to unpack dinner.

"About you, maybe about us," Liam continued.

"Is there an 'us'?" Elizabeth inquired.

"Look at me," Liam said, this time firmly. 

Elizabeth spun around, her eyes staring daggers at Liam and causing him to flinch slightly. Her gaze immediately softened, the fires leaving her eyes faster than they had appeared.

"I'm sorry," she began. "Its just that; I know we're fighting for a good cause, but I could sense that you would follow me to your death even before you knew my intentions. I want to know why."

Liam paused for a moment, surveying Elizabeth's expression and trying to discern what was making her so uneasy.

"Someone in your past hurt you, didn't they?" Liam finally inquired.

An awed expression flashed across Elizabeth's face before she concealed it with a look of puzzlement.

"What makes you say that?" she questioned, her voice only wavering for a moment.

"I can see it in your eyes, in your stance," Liam began. "You don't know if you can trust me. You don't know if you're ready to trust again."

"Should I?" Elizabeth returned.

"I truly hope you do," Liam responded, locking his eyes with hers.

"And why is that?" Elizabeth asked, stepping closer to Liam even as he approached her.

"Because, I believe destiny has paired us together for a reason," Liam replied, his eyes searching Elizabeth for some indication as to her intentions.

"Destiny," Elizabeth began skeptically. "Is that what you call this?"

They kissed passionately for several seconds before Liam broke away, his eyes alight with a dancing twinkle.

"Well, I call that something different than destiny, but it solidifies the fact that you need to trust me," Liam said in a flustered tone.

"Can I trust you?" Elizabeth reiterated.

Liam stepped closer, holding Elizabeth in his arms for several moments before saying, "You can trust that I will never force anything on you, allow you to suffer, or allow anyone to harm you. You can trust that I will always come for you."

"Because it's destiny?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Because from the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to keep you safe. I saw your heart that day, and I wanted to protect it, to comfort it, with my own," Liam stated firmly.

"That's really sweet,"she began. "Or, if you take it literally, it's actually kind of gross."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing," Liam said, breaking away and smiling down at Elizabeth.

"Your birthday isn't technically for another month, but I figure that now is as good a time as any," Liam began, producing golden heart locket from his belt pouch.

Elizabeth took it, opened it, and inside was a thin piece of cyan crystal engraved in gold with the word "Destiny".

"Destiny, huh?" Elizabeth said, putting on the necklace and looking up at Liam. "I think I like this destiny," she continued as she kissed Liam again.


	20. Chapter 19: Singed by a Flame

Chapter XIX

Singed by a Flame

_**Year 1400**_

That morning, as Liam rode for Waterdeep, he remembered an old saying that one of his mentors had commonly spoken, "The days are only as short as you allow them to be, if you ride hard and fast enough into the west, the sun will never set on you." Keeping that in mind, Liam pushed Midnight to his limits, only stopping when the city of Waterdeep came into view. Neverwinter was simply too far away for him to reach by horse in any reasonable amount of time, so he planned to enlist the aid of a ship to get him to Neverwinter faster. He passed through the gates with next to no trouble, and his horse had no trouble providing incentive for him to pass through the throngs of people unhindered. He soon came across his destination, a dwarf-owned tavern known as the Gulp and Belch, for as far as dwarves go, that's all one ever does at a tavern. Leaving Midnight and a generous tip with the stable boy, Liam strode confidently up to the bartender, a gruff dwarf named Murdoch.

"Which captains are in port and heading in the direction of Neverwinter?" Liam asked as he addressed Murdoch.

"I'll hav' te think on that 'un, me memry's a bit rusty," the obviously drunk barkeep replied with well practiced ease.

Liam pushed several silver pieces across the counter, knowing perfectly well how to loosen the stingy dwarf's tongue.

"Ah, its all comin' back to me. Tha's righ', Malakai. He's in port, an' I figure 'es 'eaded fer yer city."

"Thank you for the service, I'll be off then," Liam responded as he moved towards the door.

"If its any 'elp, ye migh' be wantin' to bring somthin' ye don't mind losin', 'es a tough un to barter wit' as o' late," Murdoch called after Liam.

"I'll keep that in mind, and again I thank you," Liam responded.

He again made for the door, but was stopped when a looming figure barred his path. Not waiting for an explanation, not caring in the slightest who this man was, and wanting to see the awesome power of Dieubanai, Liam pulled the runed blade from its scabbard on his back. Flames that first glowed red, then changed to a searing white danced up and down the wicked edge of the blade.

_Ah, yes, give them a taste of Hellfire!_

Liam held the Dieubanai in a two-handed high guard, the flames nearly touching the ceiling. The blaze flickered between scarlet and silver as Liam fought to master the dark magic that encased the blade.

_It is no use fighting, you will drain all of your strength, and then you will fully be my puppet! You will become the harbinger of doom, and none, not even Tiamat, will stop us!_

"Draw you blade, I will not strike a defenseless opponent!" Liam bellowed at the figure who had barred his path. 

He was a large, bald man, with a vivid scar that made his face look like that of a demon as the glow of Dieubanai flickered across it. The man clumsily pulled a broadsword from a sheath on his back and held it in quivering hands.

"Shall we postpone until you know which end of the sword to hold?" Liam taunted. 

With a snarl, the man lunged in with a sudden but clumsy stab. Liam arched Dieubanai down to swat the broadsword aside, then continued the spin and hacked between the man's shoulder blades as he stumbled past.

Liam rolled sideways onto a long table to avoid the lunge of the man's companion. Liam planted his foot in the stumbling man's back to continue his momentum into the arms of a startled ruffian. Uncaringly tossing the man aside, the ruffian leaped onto the other end of the table and ran at Liam, hurling a dagger as he came. Liam rebounded the dagger into the man's shoulder, spinning the man from his intended destination. The ruffian clumsily corrected his charge, only to be met in the stomach by Dieubanai's pommel, his head falling to meet Liam's knee, and to be flipped over to lay prone on the table, his head meeting the wood with a sickening crack.

Liam spun around in response to the howls of a charging assailant, hurling Dieubanai to pin the man to the wall by his throat. A half-orc grabbed Liam from behind and threw him off the table and into a wall. The half-orc jumped off the table, grabbed the back of Liam's tunic, and began to run him towards another wall. Liam ran up this wall and flipped over the half-orc's head, causing him to run into the wall instead. Liam swatted aside a charging man's punches, knocked his arms out wide, and slammed his foot into the man's carotid artery. 

As the half-orc grabbed Liam from behind again, Liam elbowed the half-orc in the face, punched him in the gut, twisted the half-orc's shoulder to a sickening angle, and knocked him to the ground with a sweep kick. A man grabbed Liam's shoulders from the front, and Liam retaliated by plunging his hands between the man's arms and pressing down on the man's shoulder blades, cracking his scapula and tearing the man's shoulder bones from their sockets. The last man charging Liam stopped halfway across the room, saw the blindingly silver eyes turn his way, and darted out the door. 

Seeing no more immediate threats, Liam strode calmly back up the wall to reclaim Dieubanai. As he retrieved his blade, the scarlet flames of Dieubanai grew fiercer, and Liam began to feel drained from the effort of keeping the fell spirit at bay.

_You are mine!_

With a final surge, Liam plunged the sword back into its sheath, giving him reprieve from the struggle for control. The rest of the inn's patrons were slowly backing away and cautiously drawing their own weapons, though holding them only in defensive stances.

"The number of you who bar my way will be the number of men joining them," Liam stated calmly as he gestured towards the fallen combatants.

With one final look around the room to see that no more would challenge him, Liam strode calmly from the inn, collected Midnight, and resumed his trek. This time, he was headed for a meeting with Malakai, the man who could return Liam to Neverwinter.


	21. Chapter 20: Beginning of an End

Chapter XX

Beginning of an End

_**July 1389**_

Nearly a year after the incident in Luskan, Liam and Elizabeth had finally found a town in which the clergy was pure. The church was smaller than the houses, consisting of half-a-dozen benches sheltered by a linen cloth strung between eight poles. If he was ever going to ask her, it would be in this city. He waited until they were safe in the room of the inn in which they would be staying. 

"We've only told the honest truth to each other," Liam began. "And I know you were truly hurt be the first person who courted you. I want you to know I am nothing like that. But I also want you to know that you are under no pressure, I don't want you to rush into anything you'll regret later."

Striding across the room Liam knelt before Elizabeth, her face expressionless, and drew from his pocket an intricately carved wooden box.

"Elizabeth, you are the most important person in my life, and I want to spend the rest of it beside you," he continued. "Elizabeth, will you marry me?" Liam asked as he opened the box to reveal two entwined white-gold bands inlaid with a flawless diamond.

After several moments of silence, Elizabeth spoke with an uncharacteristic lack of composure, "Liam, I don't know what to say. I was fine with idea of us being involved, but marriage?"

"Don't rush into anything you'll regret," Liam restated hastily. "Go out for a walk, a breath of fresh air. I'm the one wanted by the church, not you."

Elizabeth took the box in trembling hands, pocketed it, and strode out the door.

Three hours later, Liam was shaken from his daydream by a rapid, yet solid, pounding at the door. Liam hurried to the door while casting his hood low over his face and briefly checking that his daggers were loose in their concealed sheaths. The door opened to reveal a city guardsman, who apparently didn't recognize Liam as a wanted criminal.

"Excuse me, sir, would you step outside with me for a moment?" the guard inquired.

Liam calmly bolted the door and followed the guard to the street. The guard led Liam down several more avenues until they arrived at a smaller side-street. What he saw caused Liam's heart to leap into his throat. Nearly a dozen men lay dead or unconscious, all of which resulted from either unarmed blows or a large bludgeon.

"I have several eye-witness accounts that say that the woman involved in this 'scuffle' was seen walking into town with you," the guard began. "She was apparently ambushed, fought back valiantly, but was eventually rendered unconscious and taken away. My squad and I arrived a mere minute after her disappearance, and while the rest of them began to track her down, I was told to report to you."

Liam by now was kneeling to read the signs of combat, and realized that tracking down the culprit would be nearly impossible. The ruffians all appeared to be fighters you could buy with pocket change. They had probably already drank away their money. A glint of light caught his eye, and Liam lifted the corner of a canvas and found the golden heart locket that he had given Elizabeth scant months ago.

"So far, no sign or word of her," a recently arrived guard murmured into the captain's ear.

A white knuckled hand still clasping the locket slammed the cobblestones at those words, and Liam rose solemnly to his feet and strode silently past the guardsmen. An unbridled ferocity had overcome Liam, and was later glad that none had tried to stop him, or they would probably be dead. He gathered his belongings, paid the innkeeper, and left to track down Elizabeth.

_That is the doctrine you need to adopt: the untamable fury towards the rest of society. The rage, passion, and fervor that you possessed during the days in which you searched for Elizabeth. You need to return to who you were then: an avatar of destruction, a purge of humanity. _


	22. Chapter 21: The Price of Passage

Chapter XXI

The Price of Passage

_**Year 1400**_

With his hood cast low over his eyes to conceal his brilliant silver orbs, Liam kicked in the door to Malakai's room. The strongly built, tan, dark haired southerner sprang from his bed, grabbed a great halberd, and set in a stance that showed the immense skill that Malakai had with his blade. The room was sparsely furnished, containing little more than a single bed, a large table covered in sea charts, and a horizontal rod upon which clothes were hung. A few grain sacks appeared to have been cut along their seams and spread along the floor in an attempt to create rugs, but the attempt failed in the respect that they were soaked with a dark stain that smelled faintly metallic.

"Speak your business, or I'll be force to kill you, and I'd rather not stain the rugs with more blood if that's alright with you," Malakai said smoothly.

"You will take me to Neverwinter on your voyage," Liam began without missing a beat. "You will leave tonight."

"Because…" Malakai asked with raised eyebrows.

"Because I am a powerful mage beyond your wildest imagination. With just a wave of my hand…" Liam said as he made a fist with a gloved hand. The sound of an explosion echoed from down the hall, the passageway was lit with an orange glow, and a shockwave shook the contents of the room.

"Because I am far more skilled with a blade than you could ever dream to be, because I wield the Hell-forged sword Dieubanai, and because I will be greatly irked if you decline," Liam finished as he drew Dieubanai and sent silver flames crackling along the length of the runed blade.

_You cannot hold onto your sanity forever. Your mind and heart are slowly falling to darkness, soon to be completely eclipsed. You cannot fight or outrun the inevitable, and it would be foolish to try. It is your destiny!_

"Alright, we'll leave tonight. Be at my ship, _The Rite of Passage_, three candle marks after sunset. Bring payment," Malakai responded. His face remained stoic, though it was apparent by the occasional tremble that he feared Liam, even after the mage and his damned blade left the room. Even after the blade was sheathed, it continued to speak to Liam.

_It would be easier to ensure a safer voyage if Malakai were dealt with after all the preparations have been made_.

"Why?" Liam mentally questioned the sword.

_He will betray you, us. He will slow your trip and delay you from returning to Neverwinter._

"Why would he do something like that?"

_His reasons are unknown to me, but you know my words to be true._

"He has done nothing wrong."

_Yet Remember, every moment wasted is one in which you could have searched for Elizabeth if not for your previous obligations.. _

Three and one half candle marks after sunset, _The Rite of Passage_ left the port of Waterdeep; Liam at the helm, and Malakai's corpse lashed to the dock.


	23. Chapter 22: Sin

Chapter XXII

Sin

_**October 1390**_

The entire wall was consumed in a cascade of silver lightning, the priests within scrambling over each other to get to the exit on the opposite wall. Liam walked menacingly through the clearing smoke, his eyes blazing with blinding silver light. He hurled a half-dozen chairs and tables against the door, burying it in rubble. An orb of silver flame lit the barricade, causing two priests near the flames to also spontaneously combust. Liam erected a ceiling-high barrier of silver lightning behind him, its bolts blocking the guardsmen that had come to aid the priests.

"Tell me where she is!" Liam roared over the conflagration. "I know the church had something to do with it, now tell me where she is!"

Many of the priests were kneeling on the ground and clutching religious symbols, praying to their god for deliverance.

"The Father doesn't answer the calls of those who exploit his name as you have done!" Liam bellowed.

He launched a bolt of silver lightning that blasted charred holes through four of the priests. His scimitars leaped to his hands, silver light coursing down their lengths.

"This is your last chance!" Liam began. "Tell me where she is, or die and immolate in the Hell that your actions have damned you to!"

When none spoke more than their prayers, Liam unleashed an unearthly feral roar and charged into the cowering ranks of clergymen. His scimitars flashed out at every conceivable angle, the blows coming faster than the laws of nature decreed they could.

Barely fifteen seconds had passed, and two-dozen priests lay dead, the wounds they hosted numbering vastly beyond what would have been fatal. Liam lowered the lightning shield to allow his escape, and found himself face-to-face with a full battalion of the pope's men, among them powerful arcane spell-casters. The latter unleashed scores of energy orbs all directed at the unfazed warrior, though all of them spiraled into a potent pendant at Liam's neck. Nearly two-hundred bolts were absorbed into the relic before the sorcerers ceased their volley, opening the way for the melee fighters of the battalion to charge.

Liam clove through their ranks in a dervish whirlwind, his scimitars impossible to see in their twisting patterns which continued to defy the laws of nature. Liam's feet were in a similar state of haste, bringing him yards away from the men he had killed before they even began to fall. The bolts and orbs of energy directed at Liam were evaded with apparent ease, the spells killing guardsmen while they never touched the avatar of the perfect fighter. The stoic warrior never flinched, never squinted away the blood striking his face, his eyes trained on the only thing that mattered: the cleric standing in the back of the battalion.

When the nine-hundred-fifty melee men lay dead behind him, Liam used a small exertion of magic to twist the pendant at his neck, unleashing the two-hundred energy orbs that it had absorbed earlier. These bolts cascaded into the forty-nine awe-struck sorcerers, knocking them backwards and shattering their bones with far more force then the orbs contained when they were first cast by the sorcerers. Now, with only the cleric left, Liam strode menacingly towards the barely shaking man.

"If you don't strike me down, if you reconcile your sins, the Father will be merciful, and perhaps give you another chance at entering his realm," the cleric stated with only a slight waver in his voice.

"Does the same apply to you and yours?" Liam inquired, the hate still echoing through his tone. "Does the same apply to those who spend their lives exploiting the weak and innocent? To those who kidnap a woman in order to get at the one person who opposes the unjust ways?"

"The Father forgives all sins, if only you ask," the cleric responded, his tone firmer than before.

"Where is she?" Liam demanded.

"I am a servant of the Father, and will not help you until you repent, until you say you're sorry for all that you have done to the church," the cleric replied.

"I'm not sorry, the bastards who call themselves servants of the Father have perverted the church, and you are no exception," Liam spat.

He lifted the cleric into the air with an arcane gesture, and then slammed the full-plate clad cleric into the ground. Liam then threw him into a door with enough magical force to send the cleric through the door and the stone wall behind it. He hurled the cleric vertically into the air, encased him in a sphere of silver fire, and then unleashed cascades of silver lightning into the spasm-wracked cleric. It took mere seconds for the cleric to be incinerated, leaving behind only a fine silver powder, which Liam scattered in every direction with a harsh gesture. Liam whistled to summon his black stallion, then vaulted lightly onto its back, wheeled it about, and galloped up the road towards his next target, the next clergy that would answer his question or be purged from the earth like the dozens before it.


	24. Chapter 23: The Voyage Home

Chapter XXIII

The Voyage Home

_Year 1400_

Liam was a light sleeper during his days aboard _The Rite of Passage_, namely out of a wariness of the crew that had only half-heartedly taken to his leadership, but also to avoid the demonic images from Dieubanai that plagued his dreams. He kept his hood low over his eyes to make it easier for the crew to believe he was sleeping, and spent much of his time in the crows nest to ensure that the crew remained on course for Neverwinter. He sat up there often in a reclusive state, softly singing the _Lament of the Elves _while dreading what he might find when he finally arrived home. The _Lament of the Elves_ is a short song that was written during the Dragon Wars, when the chromatic dragons threatened to exterminate his entire race. Any elves who survived the purge called themselves the Sin'dorei, or children of blood, to honor their fallen brethren. 

Liam's sleep was troubled with disturbing visions of the dragon queen's army rampaging through his city. He was tortured constantly by the death of his friends, and though he knew in the back of his mind that it was the work of Dieubanai, he believed in his heart that they were real. He was questioned by the crew nearly every morning, many testifying that he screamed in the night, and they wanted to know what fel demon possessed him. He answered that they were just nightmares, and that they would pass when he returned to Neverwinter for good. This caused the crew work double shifts as they tried to speed the journey and be rid of this insane man. Thus after several days, when the normal journey would have barely been half completed, Liam realized that they would arrive at Neverwinter that very night. He did not sleep, he only paced up and down the ship, praying that the smoke on the horizon was from a bustling, prospering city, and not from a burning one as he feared. 

When the Jewel of the North finally loomed into view, Liam took no comfort in its sight. Many buildings now featured the gaping holes that were inflicted by trebuchets, catapults, and ballistae. Some were still in flames, and many humanoid blackspawn and hobgoblins ran through the streets. The siege engines continued to pound the city, and Liam could see no life other than the foul spawn of Tiamat and the hobgoblins that served them.

_See what has become of your city? See what destruction has been wrought because you were absent, unwilling to return?._

"We'll not be approachin' the city, if ye want to enter, yer to be swimmin'," the man who was to be leader of the crew after Liam's departure said as he approached from behind. This did not faze the grieving warrior in the least, for he only heard the voice of Dieubanai now.

_Ah, yes, your power is now mine. No more will my work be apparent through Hellfire, but rather through the silver flame that resides within you._

Liam, now under the power of Dieubanai, lifted himself into the air in a veil of silver light. He launched himself at a tremendous speed towards the ruined city, Dieubanai appearing in his right hand, sheathed in a brilliant silver light. By the time Liam reached the fringes of the city, he was radiating a pure silver brilliance that was unequaled by any other, fed as it was by his power and that of Dieubanai.


	25. Chapter 24: Welcome Home

Chapter XXIV

Welcome Home

A cascade of silver lightning greeted the first minion of Tiamat to approach the newly empowered avatar that Liam had become. He marched defiantly through the streets of his beloved Neverwinter, holding tightly the Tear of Nahdril, and striking down any who approached him with a blast of magic force or a swing of Dieubanai. He has indiscriminate, killing both the spawn of Tiamat, and the hobgoblins that tried to surround him with warriors and casters. He never stopped, never slowed, never released the Tear of Nahdril, and never moved his eyes from his goal: the Halls of Justice. The closer he came, the more impatient he became with those who barred his path, and the more power he tapped into to utterly annihilate them he strode, almost calmly, up the steps of the Tyr's Temple. One of the doors was scattered two dozen yards from its original home, and the other hung limply upon the one remaining hinge. This did not deter the avatar in the least. As he entered the building, he realized that a great many things had changed. Where yellow flames once burned, they were now black, though somehow still shedding light. The entire room seemed to be steeped in darkness; the altars, statues, tapestries, even the stones of the very foundation. The final thing that had become one with the darkness was the lady of Neverwinter. Aribeth stood at the center of it all, clad in jet-black full plate armor, but still wielding the hand-and-a-half sword with its pommel fashioned in the likeness of a single, lidless, serpentine eye.

"Ah, our champion, the harbinger, has come. Together, united with the serpent queen, we will sweep through Faerûn, a scourge to all who will not bow to our dark queen. All we need is you at the head of the armies to complete this wondrous picture," Aribeth told the unblinking avatar that inhabited the shell of Liam.

Just then, an explosion rocked the building, and a fiery hole was blasted through the eastern wall, revealing a blood-red sunrise. Standing in the gap, hands glowing with red energy, was Gorion.

"Liam?" Gorion asked in disbelief. "So ye finally joined us, and I see ye found the Lady Aribeth, now the servant of the serpent queen. Looks like we can finish 'er off together, like the old times."

As Gorion strode towards his old friend, he was greeted with a gloved hand stuck fast to his throat and lifting him into the air. A solid kick to the chin sent Liam momentarily stumbling back, but that was more than enough time for Gorion to freeze him in place with an arcane gesture and word.

"What's gotten into ye?" he roared to the motionless warrior. "Before ye got knocked of the docks, ye never would've tolerated the presence of a traitor such as her, allowed the servants of Tiamat to live, nor would ye ever strike me!"

"Enough of this!" Aribeth yelled from the dais. "Speak to him no more! He has become the avatar of Dieubanai, the blade you now see strapped to his back. There is nothing you can do to bring him back!"

Her hands began to glow with a black light, and she shot a small orb at the frozen Liam, an orb meant to dispel all magic upon him. It succeeded in dispelling the movement impediment, but it did much more. It was for that brief moment that Dieubanai lost all of its influence over Liam. It was in that brief moment that Liam realized that Dieubanai had been feeding him false emotions, causing him to do what he had done. It was in that moment, that Liam was done following the orders of a Hell-forged blade. Dieubanai fell to its sheath on Liam's back as twin scimitars leapt to his hands, a single target in his blindingly silver eyes. He leapt onto the dais and began relentlessly hammering the defenses of Aribeth. His scimitars came in at constantly altering angles, the true strikes melding in and out of the feints in a fluid motion that was too quick to follow. 

"Hah!" Gorion shouted. "That be Liam as I know 'im!"

Only an immense amount of luck allowed Aribeth to last as long as she did. But Liam was holding back, his true intentions known to none but himself. Sure enough, just before Aribeth "lost" the battle, the roof was torn from the Halls of Justice. Stone walls rose from the ground, in which resided full statues of the five chromatic dragons. Five statues of chromatic dragon heads tore through the ground, each firing energy into the now open sky. A rift began to tear in the sky, and the Twisted Nether began to appear before the three stunned individuals. This must have been the nexus of powerful ley-energies that the spawn of Tiamat required to create the portal to summon their dark queen. 

"Anar'alah belore," Liam muttered slowly beneath his breath. 

A monstrous roar echoed through the sundered halls of the once grand temple to Tyr, "Tremble mortals, and despair. Doom has come to this world!" 

"Anar'alah belore," Liam cursed more heatedly.

The dark goddess of chromatic dragons, the foul queen Tiamat, had come. 


	26. Chapter 25: Wrath of a Goddess

Chapter XXV

Wrath of a Goddess

"Fools!" the dark goddess bellowed. "You thought to oppose me, to oppose my servant, Aribeth, and to stop my rule? You know nothing of my power!"

"Your servant?" Aribeth questioned the hulking dragon. "I know nothing of you except that you tried to conquer us once. I serve the serpent queen Morag!"

"Then you will die as well!" Tiamat roared.

She unleashed a bolt of energy at her adversaries from each of her heads; lightning for blue, fire for red, corrosive gas for green, acid for black, and frost for white. The three leapt in opposite directions, Aribeth shouting for Morag, Gorion chanting a spell, and Liam drawing on all of his knowledge of Tiamat, seeking a way to defeat the dark goddess. He remembered the weak spots at the base of a multi-headed creature's necks, and hoped to exploit that. He vaulted to the upper balcony, leaped onto the pendulum-like tail of the dragon goddess, and began to run up the draconic being's back. Orbs of red energy cascaded from Gorion's hands by the dozens, all blasting the underside of Tiamat's great chest. Aribeth charged the beast at the legs, taking brutish hacks with her broadsword at the scaly hide. Though the two hardly seemed to slow the beast, they did provide significant enough distraction so that Liam could safely scale the monster. 

When he reached the base of the heads, Liam whispered an incantation of haste, drew his scimitars, sheathed them in brilliant silver light, and struck with blinding speed at the base of the white dragon's neck.

As Tiamat tried to shake her unwanted passenger free, she bellowed, "You are twice the fool! You cannot kill a goddess, I am immortal!"

"Correction," Liam countered, never ceasing his attacks. "We can't kill you, but when you suffer wounds that would normally inflict death; you are banished back to your plane of existence, and cannot return to this plane for one thousand years."

Gorion's energy bolts and Aribeth's strikes remained constant, but the wear began to show on the already strained combatants.

"Liam!" Gorion shouted to his engaged companion, the stream of red orbs never slowing their barrage. "Could ye hurry it up a bit? No mean to rush ye, but I don't know how long the two of us down 'ere can last!"

Liam took this to mind and, with a surge of energy, nearly tripled the already blinding speed of his scimitars. Tiamat's tail whipped struck out at Aribeth and Gorion, and the blow sent the two hurling, unconscious, into the red and blue dragon pillars. Liam realized that his blades, though having minor effects on the dragon, would not finish the job fast enough. He knew what he had to do. Dropping his scimitars to their respective sheaths, Liam drew Dieubanai and began the mental struggle he knew would come. As he began to send the sword into a flurry of blows against the dragon queen's neck, he let his thoughts drift to the blade.

"Lend your full power to my strikes, wretched blade," Liam mentally commanded Dieubanai. 

_For what reason?_

"In repentance for the false feelings you fed me. You are mine to control, rightfully so, and I command it of you!" Liam mentally bellowed and poured his mental strength into the words.

_If you insist._

Liam felt a new power coursing through his veins, its strength nearly overwhelming. His strikes began to penetrate deeply into the neck of the dark queen, and she roared in terrible pain. As the first jaggedly cut head fell limply to the ground, the remaining four heads lead out a simultaneous, blood-curdling roar, filling the city with the terrible cries of a wretched goddess in pain. His work not done, Liam ignored the blood trickling from his deafened ears, ignored the fact that he could no longer hear even the slightest noise, and concentrated fully on the task at hand. He used the immense power of Dieubanai to send a colossal bolt of silver lightning coursing down the blade to sever the green and black heads simultaneously. A gargantuan orb of silver flame consumed the blue head, and all that remained was the red head of the once terrifying goddess.

"Visions! The visions cannot lie!" the final red head screamed.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" Liam roared as he brought Dieubanai crashing down upon the final neck. 

A flash brighter than that of any mortal creation erupted from the dying form of the goddess Tiamat. And though Liam could not hear it, a cacophonous sonic blast shook the city as the portal to the Twisted Nether closed, the Tiamat temple collapsed, and the remnants of the Halls of Justice were all that remained. Now deafened from Tiamat's wails, and blinded by the brilliant flash, Liam staggered towards where his remaining senses believed he would find his fallen friends.


	27. Chapter 26: Aftermath

Chapter XXVI

Aftermath

U

**Aftermath**

nknown to the attackers and defenders alike, Neverwinter had been attacked by two armies simultaneously. One had been expected, and that was the army of spawn under the control of Tiamat. The hobgoblins, though originally thought to also come on Tiamat's orders, came from Morag, the serpentine queen of the Old Ones.

After Liam had left his city, it had been struck with a sudden and deadly plague that soon became known as the Wailing Death because of the ailments it inflicted. Despite the many attempts of the clerics of every god in the city, no cure had been found. Neverwinter's old benefactor, Kelbann "Blackstaff" Arunsun, had found one. He told Neverwinter to combine the heart of a yuan-ti, feathers of a cockatrice, brain of an intellect devourer, and a lock of hair from a dryad as reagents in a grand ritual in order to create the serum that could combat the plague. But Desther and the presumed Helmites were in fact false clerics of Helm, sent in advance by Morag's mage servant, Maugrim Korothir; madman, prophet, the one responsible for the Wailing Death. Desther betrayed Neverwinter, stole the cure, and retreated to his stronghold of Helm's Temple. Another champion recruited by Aribeth defeated Desther, and returned to Neverwinter a hero. 

The mobs of people afflicted by the Wailing Death had not yet appeased their blood thirst, and turned on Desther's closest friend, Fenthick. The unparalleled bloodlust exhibited by the mobs drove Aribeth to hate the city. She was sought out by Maugrim, converted to Morag's cause, and led a great army of hobgoblins to destroy Neverwinter. Already weakened by the plague and Tiamat's attacks, the city could not hold out against the overwhelming odds. While Liam and Gorion had found Aribeth and stopped Tiamat, the champion who had defeated Desther went after Maugrim, then traveled to the Twisted Nether and destroyed Morag for good. Free from the serpent queen's influence, and seeing the destruction she had wrought, Aribeth put her full effort into rebuilding the Jewel of the North. Gorion departed from Neverwinter, saying that there was something he had to look into, but he refused to give any details beyond the fact that he had no idea when he would return. 

Though blind and deaf, Liam began to utilize his magic and newly acquired artifacts in an attempt to balance out those great disabilities. He soon began to harness an ability often known as a "sixth sense" and, with the help of Neverwinter's clerics, was actually able to restore his hearing though he remained blind. Liam and the champion who felled Morag were hailed as heroes of the realm, and given great wealth and power in return for all they had accomplished. Wanting to know if he could count on the aid of Liam in the future, Lord Nashar asked where he believed his place in the world would be. 

Liam simply replied, "I cannot know where I most wish to be because I have not seen all that there is."

He asked to be allowed to take a leave of absence from his new position of honor within the city so that he could broaden his horizons, visit those places he had not yet been to, and come to terms with his past. Dieubanai had opened a part of his mind that Liam had locked for nearly a decade, the part that told him where he had acquired the Tear of Nahdril. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind, one more promise he needed to keep, one made to someone he had met in his youth, at the age of twenty-seven. 

That night, Dieubanai again entered Liam's dream and showed him another vision of his past. 


	28. Chapter 27: Remember

Chapter XXVII

Remember

_**March 1391**_

The room was a swirling blur of color flashing past his vision. He knew he was falling, dying. He didn't care. Making the choice to come here, he knew the outcome. He knew that despite the ratio of thirty men slain for every wound he took, that eventually they would add up, that the stone bridge spanning the great chasm would be his death bed. However, he also knew that it would buy more than enough time for his true love escape and prevent a pursuit. Those reasons were, in his mind, justification enough for his actions. He was thankful that he never felt the ground, just his spirit rising into the air.

He thought back on his life, reflecting on the things he had done. While he had not always respected the letter of the law, his motives always remained pure, his intentions just, and innocents unharmed. He had begun his life fending only for himself, making an honest living, and following the laws of the land to the letter. But then something, rather someone, changed his life forever. He met a girl, Elizabeth, who caused him to see the world in a different light, see the unjust cushion of wealth the clergy and government sat on while the poor starved in broken huts. She showed him how the religious leaders who were supposed to be helping were actually doing more harm than good. 

He adopted a new way of life, one that allowed him to help those who had been wronged by the church and their hollow promises. He harbored the greatest hatred he had ever felt for the church, those corrupt clergymen who preyed on the weak and unstable, telling them that a donation to the church would ensure them a place in the Father's blessed realm. He burned the churches, assassinated those religious leaders who would not be dissuaded from their path, and stole the money that they had not earned. 

He protected Elizabeth even more than he protected himself, making sure that she never went beyond the edge of his senses. Eventually he had slipped up, left her alone for too long, and they had been waiting. They who would seek to end his reign as the iron fist of justice that had earned him the nickname "Malbanai", meaning "evil's bane". He tracked the abductors, all rationality leaving him. He mercilessly dispatched those within the organization's chain of command until he found someone who could tell him where to find Elizabeth. The trail led him to the massive underground temple complex devoted to the demonic lord of the Nine Hells, Asmodeus. He infiltrated the stronghold and, with mere hours left before midnight and her sacrificial execution, released her by defeating the guards. He locked her gaze, his silver contrasting her copper perfectly, and told her what had to be done. Elizabeth resisted, sobbing into his stiffened form, but he remained steadfast in his belief that it was better this way. As the two parted, Liam pressed the golden heart locket into her hand, reminding her that it was to match her heart of gold. 

So he remained on the bridge as the onslaught of men and women rushed him, knowing that their time for vengeance had come. His last glimpse of Elizabeth was of her retreating form, clutching a white-gold, diamond-inlaid ring, her radiant eyes gleaming with moisture from beneath a veil of auburn hair. 

Before Elizabeth disappeared from Liam's sight, he mouthed to her, "We will meet again, I promise." 

He awaited the tide of foes with stoicism to rival the very stone around him, his spirit unwavering, his decision made, his fate accepted. 

His scimitars flashed from their sheaths as the first adversary entered striking range, only to be met with a lightning fast jab to the kidney by Liam. His precision unparallel, Liam's blades wove in and out of complex patterns at constantly altering angles so that the feints and strikes melded into each other. The fluid motion of his dance never stopped and never slowed, his blades lashing out at every conceivable angle, every parry flowing effortlessly into a deadly riposte. He used pommel, fist, and foot to bash his foes into the chasm below, the sudden jarring or screaming not fazing the warrior in the least. Limber as whipcord, Liam dodged, deflected, and parried the incoming blows from those that attacked with blind fanaticism, rage, and vengeance, feelings that even now Liam battled against succumbing to. The resounding tones of Liam's scimitars rapidly tapping on the blades of his foes soon became a single, melodious note as his pace fervently sped up, the note backed up by a steady tempo of drum-like thuds that resulted from the death of the enemy on the chasm floor. Blood ran freely from over a dozen wounds, his body began to weaken, but still he fought, the adrenaline that stemmed from his anger kept him going, anger at the men who had dared to threaten the one he loved. His silver eyes burned with a fire and passion that shook the very spirits of his opponents, though still they fought on, their victory at hand. But even Liam can't last forever, and though a few thousand lay dead by his hand, he finally fell. 

But then, something happened that he did not predict; a symbol of Tyr, god of justice, appeared in brilliant silver and blue light in Liam's fading vision. His feet met solid ground, his masterwork scimitars returned to his hands, and the horde of foes seemed to shrink away from him. His now incorporeal form was solid enough to hold his blades, but not solid enough for the blades of his enemies to do any harm. Renewed with the vigor and knowledge that no foe would survive to threaten Elizabeth, he lunged in, his twin swords spinning mirror images of darting, twisting, and jabbing death. Although he could not be harmed, the instincts and reflexes that had kept him alive for so long remained. 

Nearly a quarter of the thousands fell before him before the men finally realized that their cause was hopeless. But he was not content to let any survive who had dared to threaten Elizabeth. He pursued them with the keen precision of a veteran hunter, intending to leave none alive.

After he finished his grim task, he reached into the pouch around his neck and felt the gem that lay within. The Tear of Nahdril, the jade crystal that was bound to Elizabeth still pulsed with radiant heat and light. He knew Elizabeth survived, that his purpose in coming here had been fulfilled and that he would rest in peace. The only regret he had was that he would never again stare into those brilliant copper eyes he had sworn loyalty to at the age of twenty-seven.

_And then Aribeth found you, restored your soul to you body, suppressed the memories of your time with Elizabeth, and released you back into the world. You did not refrain from your old ways, though, for somehow a spark of vengeance had escaped Aribeth's purge. You relentlessly cut through the church hierarchy like a scythe rends wheat, the reason for your actions lying in the church's corruption. Then Mal'Ganis captured you and tamed you. Tamed the demon that was too weak to…_

"Shut up you damn sword," Liam cut in as he rolled out of bed, donned his clothes, retrieved his equipment, leapt astride Midnight, and galloped towards the only man who could track Elizabeth down.


End file.
